


The world is possibly ending, but most likely it isn't.

by shaunamac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is protective, Crowley finds love in Michael, Danielle is confused, Dean and Sam have a sister, Dean is in denial, F/F, F/M, M/M, Sam Is So Done, Sam and Dean argue again, Sam runs from Dean, everyone is confused, world is ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaunamac/pseuds/shaunamac
Summary: Adam (personification of the Cage) and Eve (crazy mother of purgatory) reunite to bring about the End of the World via an ancient prophecy. Everyone is very confused, but refuse to listen to Bobby and Rowena who seem to have a clue. Dean and Sam have a fight (probs about their inability to admit their love for two renowned angels) and Sam flees. Danielle tries to help people but ends up making errors of judgement along the way. (Thanks to Abby, Ren, Meg, Ria and Kels for your wonderful help in this work!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you all enjoy this fanfic! There are four OC's here, Danielle Winchester belongs to me, Adam is a masterpiece belonging to my dear friend Abby, and Sabathiel and Lucy belong to the lovely Meg! Reviews are always welcome!

The sun rose, just like any other day. Dean drank coffee that morning, just like any other day. Danielle took some water and went out to help an old hunter friend’s son, which was admittedly not a daily occurrence, but nonetheless, considerably normal. Sam’s phone had around a dozen missed calls, most being from Danielle, who took her new-found role as a little sister very seriously. But two were from Dean. And that was, as of two weeks ago, a very normal occurrence too.

* * *

Crowley had adapted to his life as a “normal” human quite well. So had Michael, he noted with a touch of amusement. They’d even taken on the concept of dinner parties to an exceptional degree. According to Jennifer across the street, Michael’s quiches were simply heavenly. Currently, they were lying back on the couch together, Michael’s lap forming a perfect cushion for the back of Crowley’s head. Growley, the hellhound, was lying peacefully on his bed near the door. A rug covered up the scratch marks the lovable mutt had left on many occasions.

* * *

Meg took a long, grateful sip of her coffee. Say what you wanted about humans. But they certainly made a damn good drink. Booze. Coffee. Tequila and lattes had formed a major part of the demon’s life, and since Crowley’s grudging bestowment of his duties upon the rookies, she really did need a generous measure of the two. She was now dialling the number for Sabathiel, an angel friend of Castiel’s. She never understood their damn names. Why not just Cas, or Sab? Nobody was going to use their full names on a daily basis, even if they were smoking hot.

* * *

 

Dean leafed through a book beside Castiel, growing confused as he tried to decipher the symbols. “Cas…” He gestured to the pages helplessly. Castiel obliged willingly, and made a note above the words quickly. “It’s Sammy’s job.” He explained limply. The blue-eyed angel turned the pen over in his hand, and sighed softly. Dean expected a retort; instead he received a gentle pat on the shoulder. A ghost of a reluctant smile haunted his face, and he looked down at the table. Yeah. It was Sammy’s job. Not his. His job had been to take care of Sammy. And he fucked up colossally.

* * *

 

Charlie was in her room, just opposite Danielle’s. Her laptop was open on her lap, numbers and letters flying off into cyberspace the second she gave them permission to do so. Researching demons that lurked in the deep web was usually child’s play, but this particular asshole had done a fraction of research. And so, his reward was being trolled and taunted by the self-proclaimed nerd of the Bunker. Although, Dean was stiff competition. So many puns!

* * *

 

Sam was lying flat on his back on the world’s second-most-uncomfortable bed. The bed that held claim of the world’s most uncomfortable bed was in a motel just outside of Cleveland. His phone buzzed again, bringing the grand total of missed calls up to 17. Eight from Danielle, seven from Dean, and two from Charlie. There was also a string of caps-locked messages from Castiel, who was deeply concerned for both Sam and his own lack of technological know-how. He turned on his side, facing away from the phone, and closed his eyes with a suppressed sigh of frustration.

* * *

 

Danielle watched her phone pleadingly. There were hundreds of pissed off angels waiting in Heaven for her to stop praying. Finally, it rang through, and she sighed, placing it back into her pocket as the young man ran around the corner, almost barrelling into her. “Jeez, lady! I’m sorry, did I hurt you?!” She shook her head in surprise, steadying them both and managing to smile in reassurance.  
“I’m fine, thank you. Where is Declan Rosses dorm?” She asked politely. He almost scoffed, and jerked a thumb at the corridor he’d just sprinted down.  
“Third door on your left. Don’t touch anything; he says it’s all haunted…” He waggled his fingers mockingly, and then headed back down to the east wing. Danielle watched him leave, then glanced down at her hand, waggling the fingers thoughtfully as she approached the door.

* * *

 

Bobby was at his wits end. He’d received around a dozen phone calls that morning from various hunters begging for a way to understand how so many supernatural beings were running loose upon the Earth. And that was just that morning. In the last two weeks? Countless more frantic messages and nervous voicemails heralded that nasty gut feeling that Bobby had grown used to in his time as a hunter. A veteran such as himself knew to fear that kind of reaction. In the same way a student grows to fear the results of a disastrous exam, an experienced hunter knows to fear prolonged exposure to phone calls regarding increased levels of supernatural foes, running amongst the oblivious civilians.

* * *

Jodie had gone from visiting Bobby every single day to being postponed like clockwork. But working with the law meant it was impossible not to pick up a few things along the way. Namely, how to deduce. And judging by the light in his garage every night, she was starting to deduce that something was far from alright with the hunter. Claire passed dry remarks about seeing Bobby leave the local stores with armloads of cans and tins, and Alex had even picked up on his more frequent purchases of salt, iron and silver tubing in the DIY store she worked in. All in all? Things were changing at a rate that made every fiber of her body tingle with unease.

* * *

 

Rowena was sitting in a dark warehouse, on a cracked, red leather armchair that only just managed to make it into her reluctantly-accepted abode for the simple fact that it was relatively comfortable. In front of her, a few books were opened on various pages, her hands pressed against the surface of the steel table. Her gaze was lifted, her pupils rolling back as the figure opposite her held her wrist carefully. “What do you see, Rowena?” She asked insistently.

“Cassandra, just… A… Moment….” Rowena breathed out, her head tilting back a touch more. And suddenly… There it was. She could see the black smoke swirl around her, before shooting back to form a man's suit, and a woman's slim ball gown. Their hands were joined. Smirks that promised danger and things that exceeded the very essence of Hell itself. Yet, none of that caused the electric fear that seized up her entire body. No. It was the symbol, painted in blood behind them, a sick backdrop to their seductive unity.

“Rowena!” Cassandra yelped. And then the witch returned to the warehouse, gasping for air, frightened sobs escaping her. “Rowena?!” She crouched beside her and tried to encourage her to open her eyes.

“It was a myth!” She whispered shakily, clutching her mouth. “A legend! The prophecy… Dear god, no!” Her hand splayed across one of the numerous pages, and Cassandra reached forward, her caramel brown skin brushing the words.

“And so, it was proclaimed that the first woman of God, and the first man of God, would unite as the world became riddled with new, ugly life. And they would form a bond, upon which they would begin the abyss of Earth’s final end. The abyss from which the End shall be born.” Cassandra felt sick. “No…” And the two witches shared a single, terrified glance, and clung to each other, each praying for a salvation, for hope and redemption. But it was all too late.


	2. Chapter 2: Shit starts going down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wants to talk. Crowley doesn't. Danielle wants to help. Declan doesn't. Dean wants to find Sam. So does Castiel, admittedly. Huh. Bet you didn't see THAT coming! Anywho! Meg finds out that her kin have killed their human vessels and fled for Hell. Sam ignores everything and everyone. Jodie is targeted by a ghost. Bobby saves her and Claire and Alex. They all have a sleepover in Bobby's panic room, but because Alex forgot to bring the nail polish, they don't get to discuss cute guys and paint each others nails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies! 27 hits! You dolls! I hope you enjoy this fic and many more to come! I don't own Spn, if I did, I'd make so many ships canon, and create a tonne of OC's to add to the confusion. But I don't own Supernatural. So that's not happening. Anyway! Reviews are always appreciated and loved! They give me life and hope! More than coffee and marshmallows! Have a wonderful day! And in the words of my beautiful friend Meg..... Don't let your memes be dreams.

The question had been resting on the horizon for some time now. Months, in fact. Just shy of a year. In truth, Crowley was surprised that it hadn’t been asked sooner. Michael lowered the newspapers with a faint sigh, and placed them on the side table. Crowley never understood why exactly Michael insisted on reading the newspapers. None of it concerned them. But when asked, his boyfriend seemed to find the process of reading quite soothing. Which is exactly why it troubled Crowley to see him go through five books in a day over the past month.

“Crowley, we need to talk.” A surge of panic made Crowley stop what he was doing (contemplate putting extra pepper into that gossipy old hag Jessica’s lasagne) and stare up at him.

“We do?”

“Yes.” Michael agreed, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Crowley eased himself up. “Now, I don’t want you to panic. Or fret. I just want you to listen and give me an answer.”

“I’ll do my best, love.” Crowley replied gruffly. It was easier to sound irritated than let it slip how fucking shaken he was by Michael’s behaviour. He hated this gnawing sense of wrong-doing. Michael took his hands gently, and turned them over, palms facing up.

“You know how I love you.”

“Yes. I feel the same way about you.” Crowley replied.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too. Is that the talk?” He asked hopefully. Michael shook his head apologetically.

“No. It’s not a talk, sweetheart. More like… A curious wondering.”

“Dear Hell…” Crowley murmured.

“Don’t. I’m just… Lenny asked again. You know, if we were married…”

“Oh.”

“Crowley, we’ve been together three years. Don’t you think it’s time to consider it?” Michael asked gently. Crowley was about to open his mouth, to reveal that he actually had considered it, when the front door splintered, and a figure strode in with a confident swagger and an obnoxious smirk. Michael was on his feet in an instance. Crowley took exactly five seconds to realise who the intruder was. While they adopted the image of Lucifer, it was very obvious by his eyes, that this individual was a shapeshifter. And so, he joined his lover on his feet, and armed himself with a letter opener on the coffee table.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Meg heard the phone pick up, and a coy smile flashed on her face like an old friend. “Hello, fire of my loins. Apple of my eye. Light of my li--” Her string of deliberately cheesy flirtations was cut short by the interruption caused by a sudden eruption of black smoke, surging from a nearby warehouse. She lowered the phone, her heart rate increasing steadily as she witnessed her brothers and sisters flee their vessels, into the skies.

“Meg?” Sabathiel’s voice reached her ears, pulling Meg back to the phone, almost entranced.

“I’ll hit you back, Black Sabbath.” She hung up and took a small step forward. A single man ran from the building, screaming for help. She knew before he even said it. Her kin had killed their vessels and fled for Hell. Out of fear. Of a sheer, gripping fear that had consumed them.

“Dead! All of them, dead!” He cried. Meg looked up at the windows. Sure enough, the symbols were painted into the windowpanes with blood. Suicide. And a promise of worse to come.

“What the fuck?” She muttered softly.

* * *

 

Danielle waited outside the door for a few moments, still looking down at her hand. What did it mean? The waggle of the fingers… Was it the position? He held both hands by his face, so… Declan opened the door, and the relieved smile died instantly on his face when he saw her with a confused frown, wriggling her fingers uncertainly beside her head.

“You’re teasing me too!” He exclaimed furiously. She dropped her hands in surprise.

“No!”

“You totally are! I knew it. You don’t believe me. So why did you come?!” He demanded to know. A few students walked past at that moment, and started tittering petulantly.

“Maybe you finally did a good job, man! Or found a virgin--” The ringleaders insults were ended sharply by a sudden burst and shatter. Several glass shards fell down like dangerous snowflakes, and the group scattered, startled into silence. Declan gawped at her, his brown eyes wide with awe. Danielle unclenched her fist, brushing a piece of glass from her shoulder.

“I’d like to come in, please.” She explained carefully. He stepped to one side, silently conceding to her entrance. The young blonde walked inside, and placed her hand on the wall briefly. A faint tingling sensation caught her hand quickly, and she pulled it away in confusion. “Declan--” He was on top of her before she could continue, pinning her to the bed and turning her quickly, straddling her waist.

* * *

 

“Has he picked up yet?” Castiel asked Dean quietly, studying the pen in his hands intently. Dean shook his head in annoyance, placing the phone back down on the table.

“Nope. Stubborn jerk.” He grumbled. A soft sigh escaped Castiel, who reached forward to rest a hand on Dean’s back gently.

“He’ll come around eventually.” He tried to sound comforting. It didn’t really work, but Dean forced a smile and nodded slowly.

“Sure, yeah, course he will.” He rubbed his eyes wearily, and very nearly leaned into Cas’s shoulder, when the table suddenly made a beeping sound, and a small red light switched on, right over Ireland. And then another right next to it. Four. Six. Ten. Seven in Africa. Dean jumped up and swept his arms across the table, clearing it in one fell swoop. Suddenly there was over three dozen in America, twenty more in the South, six in Japan…

“Cas--”

“It’s not the angels. Heaven Radio is panicked, but nobody is falling.” The angel responded instantly. “Dean?”

“Charlie!” Dean bellowed. The redhead burst through, her eyes filled with urgency.

“Dean, there’s been a demon exorcism in New York.” She swallowed nervously. “Nobody exorcised them, Dean. They left themselves.”

“So?” Dean was incredulous as he answered his buzzing phone. “That’s nothing new!”

* * *

“Here’s something new, jackass.” Meg sounded uneasy as she spoke to the eldest Winchester sibling. “They killed the meatsuits. Ditched them in their den.” She was inside the crime scene, having forged an identity as an FBI agent. Surrounding her, there was a collection of glass shards and kitchen knives, all coated in blood, lying in the limp hands of the dead. “This was a mercy killing. The demons must’ve figured the humans were better off dead.”

“You guys never had much going for our way of life.” Dean was snide.

“Can it, junior. I mean, the demons genuinely felt death would be kinder to them.” She ran her tongue across her lips. “Dean, they did this out of fear.” Which meant that something big was coming. Meg just didn’t particularly relish her lack of knowledge as to what that something was.

* * *

Sam was in the motel room, using both pillows to try and ease the discomfort he had in the bed. It wasn’t working very well, and so far, all he had succeeded in doing was giving himself a neck pain for trying so hard to alleviate the back pain. Thusfar, he had remained oblivious to the chaos that was starting to grip the planet. He simply remained where he was, struggling to locate comfort in an impossible location, while a demon stole up the steps to his motel room.

* * *

 

Jodie was in the study, scanning through their latest bills. They were able to afford them, just about. But lately, having to buy more food for Alex and Claire, combined with college fees for Alex… It just wasn’t enough for other things. She lowered her pen and ran her hand down her face, sighing wearily. “Damnit…” The floorboards creaked outside the door to the study, and she instantly dropped her hand to the table, on her feet in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that was skipped when she saw who was standing in the doorway. “Owen…” She breathed out shakily.

Claire and Alex hammered on the door of Claire’s bedroom frantically, even launching kicks and objects at it. The conclusion was that, not only were they locked in, but an object was jamming the door handle from the outside. “ _Jodie!!!_ ” Their screams remained unheard by their desired responder. But they were heard by someone arguably better. Bobby marched out of his garage, armed with a rifle and salt rounds.

“Mommy…” Owen slowly walked in, and she sank to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes. “Mom--” The front door suddenly shuddered, and Owen’s head jerked to the side.

“Baby?” Jodie whispered softly, reaching out to him. The boy's gaze returned to her, just as the door finally splintered, and Bobby barged in.

“Jodie, get down!” He barked. The mother didn’t have time to argue. She planted herself on the ground, covering her head, and he fired off a round, landing it perfectly into the ghost’s back. It dissipated, and Jodie cried out, tears landing into the carpet. “Jodie?! Jesus Christ… Jodie, did you get hurt?!” Bobby rushed over to her and eased her up gently, cupping her face in his hands and checking her over for wounds. “Jodie, honey, answer me.”

“Owen…” She choked out. “He wasn’t…”

“It was a ghost, honey. I’m real sorry. But I gotta go and burn the blanket.” He insisted softly. Or as softly as he could. Her response was instantaneous. Her body stiffened, and she stared at him pleadingly.

“Bobby, no…”

“Jodie, please. I have no choice.”

“No, Bobby, please, no! No, don’t do this!”

“Jodie, sweetheart…” He reached down and took her hands, squeezing them tenderly. “Where are the girls?”

“I…” She didn’t know. She didn’t know where the girls were. She immediately tried to stand up, but Bobby stopped her. “Let go! Let go, Bobby, where are they!”

“They’re upstairs, Jodie!” He scrambled to his feet, and adjusted his cap, before gently cupping her cheek in his hand. “I’ll go and get ‘em. You grab your things, you’re all staying at mine tonight.”

“What? Why? Bobby, answer me.”

“Because if you stay here, then God only knows what else is gonna come crawling outta the closet.” He kissed her forehead, and then ran upstairs to fetch the girls. That night, they all slept in the panic room. Nobody complained. Alex and Claire huddled up together, and didn’t mention or tease Bobby, who held Jodie in his arms as she slept in the camp bed beside him. He didn’t sleep that night.


	3. Castiel tries really hard to be an optimistic unicorn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg brings bad news to the trio of eccentric darlings at the Bunker. Danielle manages to fight off her assailant only to discover that all existing shit is hitting the fan. Crowley and Michael argue over their intruders fate; Crowley gets turned on and then ends up snarking with the shifter before fucking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get all happy and bubbly when I see all the hits and reviews and things! By the by, if anyone here wants to read wonderful works of art, please go and read anything by renacethemenace. He is a beautiful writer and a very friendly guy. Have a wonderful day!

“Brother!” The abomination beamed, stepping forward. Crowley was quicker, and planted himself like a demonic boulder between it and Michael. “Brother-in-law!” He continued without skipping a beat.

“You’re no brother of mine.” Michael growled out. His partner reached behind him to hold him back, in case he attacked.

“Shapeshifter?” Crowley asked, stepping back with Michael slowly. The creature flashed the couple a slimy grin.

“We all seem quite capable of adopting new forms now. Strange.” He paused dramatically. “After Michael here killed me, I’d have thought it would be more difficult!”

“Michael, stay behind me.” Crowley muttered gruffly. The archangel allowed his silence to answer for him. His fingers knotted into the back of Crowley’s jacket, his grip just inches from the box in his pocket (and yes, folks, it actually IS a box).

* * *

Danielle grabbed the first thing her hands could claim a grip on, which happened to be a pillow, and she smacked it into the side of Declan’s head. The effect was disappointing. He growled and rolled to one side, pulling her to the ground. Before he could pin her down, however, she managed to crack the heel of her hand into his nose. A cry of surprise left his throat, and she hooked her leg behind his, twisting sharply. Suddenly, he was underneath, and she was on top, landing a sharp right hook to his jaw. 

“You won’t be able to stop this, Danielle!” He hissed. The blonde grabbed onto the edge of the bed and pulled herself up. “It’s been coming. Since the dawn of creation…”

“Amara?” She guessed, straightening her arm and catching the angel blade as it shot out. He began to laugh, a low, gruff sound.

“You’d be so lucky… Think older, sugar. Ancient. Older than life and death itself, bitch.”

“I’m not your bitch.” She raised the blade, just as Declan’s eyes went black. The sight sent a wave of nausea over her. The guy was scarcely twenty. She couldn’t just kill him. Her grip faltered.

“Once Adam and Eve are through, kiddo, we’re all going to be their bitches. If we’re lucky.” He spat out a mouthful of blood; Danielle assumed he must’ve bit the inside of his cheek when she hit him.

“Michael and Crowley can help--”

“Ha!” He crowed, groaning afterwards as he moved up slightly against the wall. One arm was wedged protectively around his side. “No one can stop this…” Danielle lowered the tip of the blade slowly, realisation dawning on her. “Everybody’s relying on Death now…”

“Jesus…”

“No, kiddo. Death.” He corrected her as she knelt in front of him. “Crowley, the archangels, even Michael. Even your brothers! None of them can save us.”

“You need to stop putting your faith into the wrong people.”

“I could say the same thing to you, sunshine! Smell the fucking roses! I have no faith. Hence why there’s hundreds of us self-respecting demons cutting our losses and hauling ass out of this place.” His hand suddenly shot up and clamped around her wrist. “I’d advise you to do likewise, princess.”

“I think I’ll stick to believing in them.” She replied quietly. The demon stared at her in wry amusement, before finally tilting his head back, unleashing his essence from the vessel, and surging out through the window. Danielle stepped back from the dead body, standing up once she closed the boy's eyes solemnly. “Michael, we have a situation.”

* * *

 

During Declan’s terrifying revelation, Crowley had somehow succeeded in restraining the shifter with a little help from Michael. Well. A lot of help, really. It took an extensive toll on him, to have to restrain the shifter long enough for Michael to pin him down and tie the creature to one of the dining room chairs. The King of Hell reached up to swipe at his nose; when his hand came down to touch Michael’s sleeve, he became painfully aware of the dark daub of blood across the side of his finger. The shifter noticed this with a sadistic glee.

“Not so fun now, is it, majesty?” He chuckled throatily.

“Leave him out of this.” Michael growled. Crowley swallowed and took a small step forward.

“I was planning on gathering a few answers from you,” he replied coolly, putting up a front in the only way he knew how. “But now I don’t think I care. I’ll fetch the archangel blade, shall I?” He offered Michael with a mockingly cheerful smile. To his surprise, the look in the dark-haired archangels gaze was similar to the one he saw every time he collected a new soul.

“No, Crowley!” He hissed, shocked by his lovers implications. “You’ll bring about the apocalypse!”

“What?” Crowley couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that one. “What?!”

“I’m right here, boys. Room for a little one?” The shifter rolled his neck indulgently. Michael broke eye contact with Crowley just long enough to reprimand the creature.

“Not another damned word from you, or so help me…” He snarled.

“How, pray tell, is that revolting scumbags death going to bring about the end of the world?” Crowley wanted to know.

“That revolting scumbag is Lucifer!” Michael explained with a touch of exasperation. Concern filled Crowley like water from a dam.

“No, Michael. No, it’s a shifter, love. Just a shapeshifter…” Crowley raised his hands to gently rub the archangels arms, only to have his affectionate touch shrugged off angrily.

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?! I mean, he has taken Lucifer’s form!” The shifter observed them with a vague amount of interest.

“Why would that make a bloody difference?” The demon was beginning to feel the start of a migraine coming along.

“You tell me, King of the Loopholes!” The response was far snarkier than anything Crowley had expected. His eyebrows shot up, and a playful smirk rested on his lips.

“I have to say, I’m torn between kissing you and further exploring the nature of that particular nickname, love.”

“The apocalypse could be brought around by any creatures death while in the form of Lucifer.” Michael had to physically draw the patience out of himself.

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?! Sam was possessed by your lunatic brother thousands of times!”

“I AM TRYING TO BE LOGICAL ABOUT THIS!” Michael exploded furiously.

“And yet, simultaneously, you are turning me on and sounding like a complete and utter tool!” Crowley shot back.

“Oho…”

“Shut your mouth, shifter.” Crowley growled menacingly. The Lucifer look-alike did so with a wide grin.

“Crowley, my love, please…” Michael forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. “Let us not risk it. He can be punished in Heaven.” The idea was far from good, but Crowley honestly didn’t think he could go through this argument without saying something even more regrettable. Not with this headache.

“Fine. Yes, alright, just…” He sighed heavily and nodded. Michael leaned in and kissed him gratefully on the forehead. Crowley accepted it, then regretted doing so as Michael pulled back with a fretting frown on his brow.

“Your nose… It’s bleeding!”

“It’s just a migraine, love. It’s nothing.” Crowley lied. The blood and the headache were connected, but they were caused by another factor. Something he couldn’t quite deduce.

“Let me go and fetch you some water.”

“Or you could just heal me…” Crowley lifted an eyebrow as Michael stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Why would I waste my angelic powers on a mere headache?” He sassed back. They shared a smile, and Michael disappeared into the kitchen. Crowley turned back to face the shifter, exhaling a small sigh of relief at his saved relationship, when the shifter smirked at him.

“Good question. A better one would be, why would he waste his powers on you?”

“Shut your mouth, filth.” Crowley tossed back, struggling to contain his anger that had shot up inside him like a geiser.

“Why don’t you make me, prick? I’m honestly underwhelmed. You were supposed to be this great king, not some middle-aged suburban sap. Don’t tell me you boys got a dog…” His voice was dripping with scorn.

“Hellhound, actually. He’s upstairs if you fancy scratching his tummy.” He quipped. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that if you want to heat me up, junior.”

“Oh, sweet cheeks.” The shifter laughed mockingly. “I’m not even warmed up yet.”

* * *

Dean let the phone drop to the table, a stunned stare in his eyes. Charlie bowed her head in silent distress. Castiel simply waited for Dean’s familiar voice to break the ringing silence that Meg’s words had left for them. It didn’t arrive. And so, the angel tried to coax it out by providing his own opinion. “She was wrong. Maybe she misinterpreted it, Dean. Demons don’t feel fear, not enough to react like this.”

“Cas, look around. The table is lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.” Dean’s voice was quiet and subdued. Charlie’s head jerked up the moment his tone registered, and Castiel saw the hope leave her eyes instantly. He shook his head, even trying to smile comfortingly at them both.

“Maybe my brothers and sisters are visiting for the holidays? We can’t lose hope, not now. A few demons left their vessels. That’s a good thing!”

“Why would Meg call and tell us about it, then?” Charlie asked softly. Castiel hated the lost look in her eyes. He just wanted his friend to smile again. To press some buttons on her computer and show him pictures of kittens, or how to make more emoticons. But for now, a smile would suffice. A real one.

“Cas, just stop…” Dean shook his head wearily and sank into a seat. “Damnit. What the hell are we in for now?”

“Dean, don’t lose hope. Come on, you two! Let’s make a plan, o-or tease Meg for being so pessimistic! Right? I’ll go and get the beer--” Dean’s hand moved up and rested lightly on Castiel’s sleeve. He shook his head once, then resumed staring at the table, and the dozens of red lights that occupied it.

* * *

 

“You ever wonder why he agreed to this?” The shifter looked around the living room with an air of disdain. “I mean, come on. Sword of Heaven? Living in a cul-de-sac with you and some mangy mutt from Hell’s pound?”

“Did a mean lady break your heart, chum?” Crowley asked patronisingly, just about managing to hide just how deep those words cut into him. Not the dog. Although, Growley was a fine pedigree of an animal. No, it was the questioning of why a spectacular thing like Michael, would ever settle for his polar opposite in a boring house like this.

“Yeah, mommy never loved me enough. Although, I can see why we’d relate on that front… C’mon, Crowley. You’re trying to tell me that, with all your loathing and pessimism, you’ve never once considered the fact that, oh, I don’t know…” The shifters eyes lit up with malice. “Big daddy is pinning a babysitter on you?”

“A little ironic, coming from someone who’s tied up to a chair at the moment, don’t you think?” His hands itched for the letter opener in his pocket, but some tiny shred of self-control held his hand at bay. Crowley firmly believed that that shred was born the day he met Michael.

“I’m sure it’s kept you awake at night.” The shifter nodded knowingly, blissfully unaware of the rapidly decreasing shred of control within his adversary. “Wondering if this really is love? Could it really be your happy ending? Or is it just another great big conniving scheme to keep you in check?” The shred was all but gone. Crowley forced himself to chuckle slightly. One of the women had mentioned that laughter was a great stress reliever, and he sure as shit was feeling the strain of stress. But the coerced giggle did nothing to alleviate the pressure. If anything, it simply served to seal his hand around the handle of the sharp letter opener.

“I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut, abomination.” Fuck it, that was the worst possible insult he could’ve spouted. Especially given the topic of debate.

“Well!” He laughed once, smugly. Crowley became painfully aware of his error, and pulled his hand out of his pocket to threaten him. That was all it was. A nice, easy threat, quite effective at shutting this type of captive’s mouth. But the shifter simply grinned all the more. “I guess that answers my question!” Before Crowley could even contemplate a retort, the shifter stood up, the chair still bound to his body, and charged forward, straight into the opener. The slim, jagged blade tore through his skin, between his ribs, and, by the force of the charge, into his heart. The silver worked quickly.

The first thing the breathless Michael saw when he entered the living room, was seemingly his brothers dead form leaning against Crowley’s blade. And all he could think of was Danielle’s starting lines of her prayer to him. “We have a situation.”


	4. 4: A half-naked hunter, useless lab coats, and Crowchael's unbeknownst fond farewell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley survives Michael's wrath, although mentions of a certain celestial prick (according to Crowley) reopens old wounds. A particularly stupid retired hunter strips off to battle a wendigo. Danielle tries to be helpful, and only succeeds in saving herself and Crowley, all because of a half-naked hunter and a shocking lack of science knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly blown away by the awesomeness that is you! You being the reader! And so now, I am handing you the reins. What scene would you like to see? Is there a subplot that circles around a relationship or individual that you think would benefit the story? Alternatively, is there something you would NOT like to see? The feedback is a beautiful and radiant thing which rejuvenates me more than any other earthly thing, so don't be afraid to yell at me about things relating to my writing. Have a lovely day!

Bobby was already arranging the guns when Claire woke up, her hair tousled following a restless night's sleep. Jodie was standing beside him, her arms crossed tight across her waist. Claire wasn’t fully sure if the sheriff was looking at him fondly, or if it was a mutual expression. Either way, she was sullen and a little frightened, so that whole scenario was going to have to go on hold. 

“What’s going on?” She asked sharply. Jodie turned with a jerk, surprise lighting up her eyes. 

“Claire!” She struggled to come up with a response, and Bobby turned slightly, touching her arm gently to reassure her. 

“Claire, I understand that you have a lot of questions right now. But I need you to wake up Alex, so that we can come up with a plan.”

“You mean you don’t have a plan?” She shot back sourly. Bobby’s eyes lifted to the peak of his cap, and he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. 

“Claire, that’s enough.” Jodie warned her sternly, taking a small step forward, away from the desk. Bobby slotted another round into his rifle, and tried to explain the situation. 

“The plan is this. You wake up Alex. We discuss what we know. And then we figure it out. There sure as hell ain’t enough supplies in here to keep the four of us going for long. We got a week, if we aren’t attacked.” 

“You’ve been hoarding cans for weeks, why are we only set for a week?”

“Sam and Dean were supposed to bring more.” Jodie explained quietly, recalling what Bobby had told her. The veteran hunter nodded his praise at her regurgitation.

“But they didn’t exactly understand what I meant by global shitstorm.” He grumbled goodnaturedly. Claire snorted faintly. “Look. The boys ain’t here. So we need to get moving. Alex, sweetie, can you fire a rifle?” He asked the wakening brunette. She nodded drowsily, stretching out the kinks in her back. Jodie tried to alleviate the tension that had slowly pervaded their brief sanctuary.

“Can she fire a rifle? Whose adopted kid do you think you’re talking to, Singer?” She raised her eyebrows. To her credit, Alex did manage a pity-smile. “Both my girls can shoot cans from thirty feet.”

“No kiddin’!” Bobby nodded, impressed by their work. But underneath, he felt a familiar twinge that he had, up until then, always associated with Sam and Dean. Claire and Alex were similar to the boys, in manner and attitude. Alex was a little quieter and more studious. Claire was more aggressive and determined to fight back. Jodie sure as hell wasn’t leading them down the same road, but… It was eerily alike to the path the boys had walked on. 

“Yeah. I’ll bet Sam and Dean couldn’t shoot that far at this age.” Claire replied with a smug smile. Bobby winced slightly and turned to hand her the gun, now reluctant to do so. 

“Their father would’ve strung ‘em up if they didn’t, kid.” He briefly demonstrated to the safety switch, ignoring the collision of exasperation and sadness in the three women's eyes. Once they were all armed, he then wordlessly beckoned for Jodie to help with the supplies, dividing them evenly into four rucksacks.

A few minutes later, they were ready to return to Jodie’s house to gear up more appropriately. And once they were ready for their long, gruelling journey ahead, the four survivors quietly opened the door, and bid farewell to the bliss that they’d taken for granted. For now they were entering a world in which a day of life was a blessed miracle.

* * *

“I can’t believe you killed him!” Michael cried, pushing past Crowley to get to the shifter. Crowley watched him, a drop of blood running from the blade into the carpet.

“I…” His voice was shaken. He’d killed before. Of course he had. But this wasn’t his decision. Of course not! It was a mistake, one that broke the promise he made to Michael. “I didn’t…” Christ. His hand was shaking. Crowley moved his hand back, dropping the letter opener down with a faint thud. “I swear, Michael, I swear to you, I would never… He ran into the blade!”

“Why should I believe you?!” Michael spat out, struggling to find a pulse on the dead corpse. 

“I normally never would expect you to, but please, love. Just this once, understand that I’m telling you the truth.” He was starting to panic now. And if that continued, he’d become a snarky little bastard. Nobody wanted that. Least of all him. “See? His chair moved!”

“You have telekinesis, Crowley, same as me! You can yank him over without even trying!” Michael hissed, stepping away from the dead body and forcing himself to look at Crowley. 

“I can’t.” Crowley replied quietly. That was what scared him the most. He couldn’t use his abilities as easily as before, and that had never happened to him. Aside from when the moose gave him his blood, but… He had no human blood inside him. 

“What?” Michael was hoarse. “That’s ridiculous; of course you can! I can still do it!”

“Well, goodie for you, love!” Crowley snapped, panic quickly turning into a darkness that one could only expect from the King of Hell. “That doesn’t change the fact that I can’t!”

“So how did the chair move?” Michael demanded to know. His heart was torn between believing Crowley, believing that the man he loved would NEVER do anything to wrong him. But the evidence was overbearing. And even though Danielle had told him… He didn’t want to believe that these effects would be related to the end of days. 

“He ran.” Crowley replied shortly. “He ran into the blade and killed himself.” He paced to the bookshelf and adjusted one of the books, before turning and walking to the other end of the room. If he stopped for too long, he’d think about how utterly screwed he was. The shifter had got to him more than he should have. The very idea that Michael may have been sent by God or Chuck or whatever the bloody hell his name was, was enough to turn his stomach. That and the fact that the archangel was yelling at him, combined with the vacation his powers just took, had him feeling frantic and frustrated. 

“And what, pray tell, was the blade doing out in the first place?” Michael was finding it difficult to keep his voice and temper low and even. His face fell into despair when he saw the look of conflict and guilt in his lovers eyes. “Crowley…”

“I took it out, but only to make him shut up!” Crowley snapped, clutching his head as a pounding pain overtook him. He wasn’t able to concentrate. He could scarcely keep himself standing, really. It was as if a radio was playing nothing but static into his head. When he spoke again, it was in a soft, almost wondering whisper. “Why wouldn’t he just stop talking?”

“I can’t believe you would do this! And I told you expressly not to!” Michael shook his head, and, for a moment, allowed his fears and need to assign the blame overtake him. Only, in the heat of the moment, he assigned the blame to the one person he knew, in his heart, had done nothing to deserve it but happened to be in the room. “My father was right about you…”

“Michael!” Crowley felt sick. “Please, I swear…”

“Danielle.” Michael barked, forcing them both to address the new and very present danger. “Danielle Winchester, she prayed to me. She said that something big is coming our way. The apocalypse, Crowley! And you just signed along the dotted line!”

“This coming from the girl who thought a bloody blender was a weapon of mass destruction?!” He rolled his eyes with more than a hint of exasperation. “It’s nothing!”

“Then you can tell her that yourself. She asked to speak with you.” Michael stepped over the dead body and raised his hand. The form instantly disintegrated into dust. “In person.” He added harshly. 

“What?” Crowley was sensing a familiar grudging annoyance break through the nausea he felt. “Dear God.” He made sure to add a thick serving of venom with the term. Screw Chuck, for all his self-proclaimed goodness, he had gone and messed with the only thing that made a difference to him. The entity in question seemed pissed that Crowley was blaming his father. “I wonder when Dean is ever going to trust that girl with a phone.”

“Go to her.” Michael snapped. Only, this time, a hint of vulnerability slipped into his gaze. Crowley felt a dagger of pain in his chest. It tore through him, and remorse filled him up more than he would have liked. But as far as Michael was concerned… Crowley would’ve felt thrice the amount to make him happy again. 

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye, love.” He informed him gently, moving to rest his hand over Michael’s wrist. The archangel stiffened, but did not move away. “We can sort this out. I’m sure of it. In fact, I’ll bet you a week of chores that by tonight, you’ll be screaming my name for a completely different reason.” He added with a cheeky grin. Michael struggled not to succumb to the grin, and Crowley kept his gaze on him, the grin growing steadily. 

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

“Go to Danielle!” Michael laughed shakily, shrugging his hand off. A pause followed it, and as Crowley fixed his collar, Michael gave him a weary look. “I love you.”

“And I you, Love.” He agreed openly, bowing extravagantly. “I’ll be home for supper. Don’t wait up.” And with that, he was gone. Michael smiled faintly, and brushed off an armchair, before sinking into it with a soft sigh and the intention of having a few moments to relax. 

* * *

Meanwhile, a retired hunter had awoken in the staff room of the university that Danielle was visiting. The source of his rude awakening? A wendigo, fresh out of Purgatory. (More about that later). The change in dimension and realm worked to the startled hunters advantage, slowing the wendigo as it moved down the corridor to the boiler room. Our desperate-to-be-known-as-a-hero friend nodded grimly as he yanked a drawer open, tipping a bottle of vodka upside down over his shirt. With the baffled gaze of the new Spanish professor following his every move, the mildly chubby fellow stripped his shirt off, and wound it around a ruler.

“Señor Pine--” The younger professor was cut short by a faintly breathless request for her lighter. Mutely, she tolerated his request, skirting around him as he charged off down the hallway after his prey. 

* * *

Danielle had migrated towards the science laboratory in the time it took her to finish praying to Michael. Curiosity and the simple, undeniable knowledge that she could be connected to the dead body in Declan’s room were motivation enough. The first thing that caught her attention was the wide variety of salts. Potassium dichromate, copper sulphate, cobalt nitrate… Perhaps they were training to be hunters. Her gaze landed on the freshly laundered white lab coats, and she shook her head pityingly. Getting the blood stains out would be very difficult. Wandering over to them, the heaven-born human decided to investigate further, maybe even leave a little note on the pile to help them out.

* * *

Red. Hot, sheer, burning red, engulfing him and washing him out. Every so often, a heart-stopping black made an appearance. But for the most part, red. The agony was the purest form he’d ever known. And, for a moment, the split second it took to move between locations, elongated. It stretched out into an endless abyss of time and decay. That was how Crowley knew things were far from alright.

* * *

“Get back here, you little bastard!” The returned hunter bellowed, charging into the boiler room. It was dark there. Cosy. The gas pipes hummed gently with a range of possibilities for what they contained. Heated water, warm classrooms and general comfort all around, or combustion, calamity and chaos. The latter three didn’t once come to mind for the foolish physics professor. Instead, he sprinted around the corner, following the sound of a distinct, wet chewing noise. Steeling his stomach, he continued forth.

* * *

Danielle signed off the note, and placed it on top of the stack of pristine coats. She’d advised a different colour, a different laundry detergent, and even recommended a variety of precautions to take while hunting. Vampire blood was especially tough to remove. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blast of red smoke, and suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of her, a steady stream of blood running down his upper lip. “Crowley?” Her tone was concerned, and Crowley did his best to look annoyed. In truth, the King of Hell felt like a truck had hit him from all angles.

* * *

 

The wendigo stopped devouring his prey (a maintenance man called Dave) and looked up to see the cause of his disturbance. The hunter smiled triumphantly, and set the shirt on fire. “Class is in session, motherfucker!” He cried out, charging forward. The stupidity of his actions, exacerbated only by his profession in science, was instant. The blazing shirt scorched through the wendigo. The wendigo’s claws instantly jerked up and slit his carotid. Then, while the two tumbled back into a lethal embrace, the fire caught off the gas pipe. The roar of an inferno filled the air, and the fire caught in a heartbeat. One that neither the hunter nor his prey felt.

* * *

Danielle felt the heat a second after Crowley did. The flames surged beneath them, and just before it reached the pinnacle of its destruction, Danielle threw her arms around Crowley, latched onto him like a life jacket, and teleported them to safety. The effects the same motion had on Crowley were not lost on her. Instead, Danielle ended up sinking against the old pick-up truck she’d used to transport her weapons in. “C-Crowley?”

“What the bloody hell is happening?” He muttered, his voice strained and hoarse. The blonde moved slightly, and watched in the reflection of her rear-view mirror as the university collapsed in on itself, into a pile of blazing debris.

“I think we should go to Michael.”

“Yes.” He agreed wholeheartedly. Michael made things good. He made sense in this mess of confusion. He’d figure out some celestial loophole or something. Danielle looked at him wearily.

“Crowley? I don’t know if I can move.”

“What, like paralysis? Come on, Winchester, you’re made of more than this.” He sighed exasperatedly.

“Crowley, you’re not listening. I don’t know if I’ll be able to teleport that distance.”

“Why not?!”

“I don’t know. I-I’m sorry, Crowley, but something’s wrong.”

“Yeah.” He wiped his nose, staring at the blaze in growing realisation. “Dear me, Danielle, I think you might be right.” He murmured, the ring box pressing into his thigh, reminding him, reminding him of how completely stupid he had been. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

“Stop apologising.” He snapped, the words shooting out harshly before he could comprehend them. “Bloody hell…”

“Maybe we can still drive there. Come on, Crowley. You’ve got an archangel to get back to. I have my brothers--” Danielle’s optimism was cut short by Crowley’s gaze of frustration and awe. The gaze was aimed at a waving patch of the sky, the air warped as a piece of metal blasted from the mound of blazing debris, into the patch, and then disappearing.

“Fuck the car, Danielle. We’re walking. Neither of us are going to barge into one of those things. Can you stand?”

“Yes. But I won’t be able to run.” She added quietly. Crowley pulled her up roughly, and ran a hand across his nose again, making sure no more blood was running. She pulled the door of the truck open, and slowly withdrew her duffel bag.

“Who said anything about running? Grab your coat, Dani. We have an archangel to find.” It wasn’t until later that the two of them realised just how difficult that accomplishment would be.


	5. Claire needs to sort out her priorities, Meg meets a new angel, and Danielle behaves like a typical Winchester. Oh. And Gabe's back. And there's a double decker bus.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is reunited with Gabriel, who is just as clueless as Sam is. Bobby's attempts at being a friend towards Claire and Alex are ignored and disliked. Familiar foes resurface. Danielle inadvertently agitates Crowley, who retaliates venomously. When he tries to move past it, they are ambushed. Meg meets Balthazar for the first time, during an unexpected ghoul attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this, I risked my friendships with Ren, Abby, Meg and Kels to get this stuff right. I love you all! Also, let me know what you're all thinking of this fanfic in the comments. As you can see, I make a point of responding to all of them, even the painful ones *glares at renacethemenace* 
> 
> As a sidenote, the Irish woman mentioned in the gas station is NOT me, it is in fact a headcanon of mine that there is an Irish Men of Letters. Mostly because of our myths and legends here. I just wanted to clarify that. Thanks!
> 
> Have a spectacular day!

The demon remained in the hallway for a few moments, awaiting Sam’s tell-tale movements across the floor of the motel room. The tallest Winchester sibling didn’t once move from where he stood, five feet from the door, his gun at the ready. He should’ve remembered his goddamn angel blade. What was he thinking?! But it was too late now.   
The tip of a silver blade suddenly sliced through the door, running through it as easily as if it were butter. “He-e-ere’s JOHNNY!” A jovial voice boomed. The door was kicked open with a force that startled the crap out of Sam. Out of instinct, he pulled the trigger, and a salt round blasted a hole through the edge of the door. Immediately, Gabriel jerked back, lifting his arms to shield his face from the splinters. “Holy… Calm down, big guy, it’s just me!”

“Gabriel?!” Sam was incredulous, and had to sink down into the World’s Second Most Uncomfortable Bed to catch his breath. “No… You died!”

“Oh, come on, Sammy.” His eyes glowed for a moment, and he extended his hands. “I’m way too hot for that. Hey, don’t sulk on me; the pouting works in a very different way on celestial beings like myself.” Gabriel joked. Sam stared at him.

“I… Lucifer stabbed you. With an archangel blade. We… Dean and I…”

“Yeah, speaking of that dumbass… Where the heckaroo is he?” The youngest archangel placed his hands on his hips, and the door slowly swung back, revealing the demon impaled on the door.

“At the Bunker.” Sam replied hoarsely, still staring at Gabriel.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh…” Gabriel tilted his head. “C’mon, Sam. Talk to me.” He added in a gentler tone. Sam looked away, and Gabriel approached him, lightly cupping his cheek in his hand and guiding his gaze up to him once more. “Why aren’t you with Dean?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things. Not when the bigger picture is pretty fucking atrocious. But to me? It matters a hell of a lot. Talk.” He commanded. Sam looked up at him silently; Gabriel sighed softly.

“Sasquatch, I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?” He tried to use the puppy dog eyes. Then he remembered. That was Castiel’s weapon of affection, not his. However, his valiant attempt seemed to thaw through Sam’s stubborn armour.

“I don’t need your help.” He insisted firmly, standing up. His head was still bowed, however, and Gabriel suppressed a frustrated growl as he dropped his hand down.

“Well, I need yours. Come on, Sammy. We’re going on an adventure.” He reached up to bring his fingertips to Sam’s forehead. Not once did he hear Danielle’s urgent prayers to all the angels. None of them did. Aside from the ones who remained in Heaven. They heard them loud and clear. Her warning was heeded with a grim silence, as the angels exchanged looks, and returned to their furtive prayers to God.

* * *

“Winchester?” Crowley asked her impatiently. Danielle shook her head slowly, opening her eyes again. They were standing on the side of the highway, having walked for a good two hours to get there. 

“Nothing. Heaven is silent.”

“That’s ironic.” He muttered. The petite blonde dropped her gaze, and he sighed heavily.

“Come on. We need to keep going. Kansas is a good bit away.”

“Crowley, what if he isn’t in Kansas anymore?” Danielle asked wearily. He whirled around and fixed a cold glare on her. She stared at him, faintly afraid. The demon inhaled, a forced, measured intake of air, still touched by the smoke from the distant university.

“Don’t… We can’t think like that.” He turned and continued walking at a slightly faster pace.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She pointed out quietly.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Danielle.” Crowley snarled. “Zachariah must’ve drilled that into you long ago.” The girl flinched, and automatically reached up to adjust the strap of her bag. 

“Yes, well… I’m no longer working under him.”  
“No, no.” Crowley was bitter. Part of him was furious that she’d even consider the possibility that Michael wouldn’t wait for him. But the faint humanity that he’d reclaimed in the suburbs of Kansas told him that his response was entirely uncalled for. “But you were his puppet for decades. Something’s bound to stick.” When he didn’t hear a response, Crowley felt a twinge of something akin to guilt in his gut. She hadn’t exactly deserved that. But she had no right to plant any further doubt in his heart. “Look, let’s just agree not to discuss Michael’s completely impossible disappearance, and your vile mentor, eh? Let’s talk about finding shel--”

Before he could finish his sentence, he felt a firm, unexpected pressure on his left shoulder, followed by a similar sensation on the back of his head. Suddenly, a vibrating whine filled his ears, and a long thin object whizzed over his head. Metal sang behind him, and before Crowley could defend himself, he was pushed forward, and Danielle vaulted over his head, the blade only half-emerged from her jacket sleeve. “Bloody--!”

“Get down!” She ordered, her voice far firmer and urgent than her gentle, nearly lyrical tones generally were. Her foot connected with their assailant’s jaw, a gruff growl escaping him as he tripped backwards. Crowley quickly darted behind an old oak tree, drawing a pistol from her discarded bag and glancing back at them. Danielle had landed nimbly in front of the shooter, her blade dancing up to knock his aim upwards, then whistling down to nick the string. A sound of protest escaped him, and he grabbed the arrow before it fell.

Crowley removed the safety switch and turned around, his arm straight and confident. The gun was held without a shake nor an ounce of reluctance. As much as he loved his life with Michael… It sure as hell felt brilliant to kill again. But perhaps he should’ve been careful with the power surge. It seemed to blind him. Yes; that was what happened. That was why he didn’t see the shooter draw his arm out and tug Danielle back against his chest. And when he was aware of that, it was much too late to stop him from driving that bloody arrow into her leg. Still. That did nothing to stop him from pulling the trigger and launching a bullet into his brain. Good riddance.

“Danielle?” Crowley lowered the gun a touch, then dropped it entirely as she leaned against the angel blade like a crutch. Her face had gone pale; her body seemed suddenly frail with the arrow jutting from her thigh like that. “Shit…”

“I think… I think I wouldn’t’ve liked that to have stuck so well…” She murmured, her hand forming a small fist around the handle of the angel blade, while her other hand pressed against the tree, guiding her against it like a second support.

“Danielle? Are you alright?” Crowley tried to sound gruff. It worked, in her ears. But to him, it was too panicked. She looked at the arrow, almost confused.

“It’s deep…”

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s an arrow.” Crowley couldn’t hold back the sarcasm. “We need to take it out.” 

“Okay.” She nodded, then braced herself against the tree, moving her hand down to touch the arrow. Her fingertips brushed off the shaft, and she withdrew her hand, suddenly afraid. “Crowley?”

“Yes?” He looked up. She glanced at the arrow, ashamed. “Yes.”

“I don’t need to sell my soul?” She tried to joke. He cracked a brief smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder, the other hand gripping the shaft firmly (stop laughing, kids, honestly!)

“No. We’re good. Just don’t complain, yeah?” He added gruffly. She nodded with a tiny, weak smile, and placed the strap of her bag into her mouth. Crowley nodded, and then swiftly yanked it out with an unnerving slicing sound. Small symbols began to glow, burning white in the shaft. Crowley dropped it instantly, but not before recognising the curse itself. His heart sank, and his gaze saddened briefly, before sparking with determination. She was sick. She’d start to feel the symptoms soon enough, surging through her slim frame, taking as much as possible out of her. But she didn’t know. And that meant they could find Michael in the period of obliviousness she’d go through. Michael would know what to do. He always did.

Crowley made the decision to walk beside her, once they’d tied her scarf around the wound. Hence, he was close enough to hear the limp in her walk, and understood with a strange discomfort that the period of obliviousness would come to an end far quicker than he’d anticipated. And that meant that his journey with young Danielle would soon be at its end, before either of them were able to see their loved ones again.

Crowley began to walk faster.

* * *

Bobby insisted that they stop to rest near a gas station. Claire was going to protest, to insist they keep walking. None of them were tired or in pain, and they could eat and drink later. But judging by the look Jodie gave her, her input was unwanted and unnecessary. What else was new? Claire flopped onto an old, cracked bench beside Alex, who hadn’t spoken a solitary word since they left. Everything was a matter of nodding, shrugging, or shaking her head. The only time she opened her mouth was to drink water, or cough, or accept a piece of candy. Claire suspected the latter was some lame attempt on Bobby’s part to be “cool uncle Bob” rather than the old, bitter hunter that he was. 

“We should keep it. Judging by all those books you’ve been reading up on, chocolate might be worth something real good soon.” Jodie had reminded him with a tiny smile. It wasn’t shy. It was knowing. Almost coy, as if she’d been flirting.

“It’s just gonna melt if we don’t, Sheriff.” He’d debated, passing the bar back to them. Alex shook her head out of some screwed up politeness. Claire just didn’t want to sidle up to the guy in a baseball cap who had an old bar of Hershey’s in his shirt pocket.

“I don’t see how resting up now is going to do us any good.” She grumbled. Jodie rolled her eyes and folded her arms, turning her head to look up the highway. Alex simply stared mutely at the gasoline stains on the ground, forming obscure shapes and figures. It brought back faint, hazy memories of watching the clouds with her father for Claire. “That one looks like a snake.” She pointed to one blob. Alex nodded once, slowly, still staring at the ground.

“Alex, honey, do you want some more water? Claire?” Jodie asked, walking over to them hesitantly. The blonde teenager didn’t know why. She supposed that it had something to do with the nod. The nod that was replaced with a solemn shake of her head this time around.

“How long does it take a guy to take a leak?” Claire asked sourly. Jodie gave her an exasperated look, and went back to watching the highway. “And seeing as we’re on the topic… How long will it be before we have to start calling him dad?”

“Claire, that’s enough.” Jodie snapped, dragging her hand through her short hair. “Jesus! There’s all this madness going on around us, and all you can think about is yourself?!”

“Jodie--” Claire was staring at something over her shoulder. But Jodie was still chewing her out.

“I have never once asked you to call me mom, and I sure as hell wouldn’t expect you to do the same to anyone I bring home. Bobby is helping us, alright? That’s all. Helping us to survive this.”

“Jodie.” Claire stood up, one hand moving to shield Alex from the group of armed men behind their guardian. Alex felt a surge of fear fill her body like liquid electricity, blowing her senses into sharp accuracy. Standing up, her hand lashed out, grabbing onto Jodie’s arm.

“Alex--” She turned around, and the words died on her tongue. Claire struggled to remember the Latin words. They had to be demons, right? This was just another shitstorm caused by Hell.

“Christo!” She blurted. Nothing. Not even a flicker of an eyelid. In fact, the men seemed almost glad to hear it. They began to cross the road. Alex turned quickly and stamped down on the plastic lid that covered the rock salt. The frost that descended each night was heavy enough to encourage the staff to set out buckets of the stuff. Once a hole had been formed, she snatched up two fistfuls of the stuff and made a barrier between them and their stalkers. Claire instantly went for the offense, hurling generous handfuls at them. It didn’t even slow them down.

“Get to the gas station! Quickly!” Jodie yelled. Claire took her other arm and began to step back, when they saw something bizarre. A woman, maybe in her late thirties, early forties, was approaching, armed with a hose from the car washing station.

“He’s driving around the back! Wait by the road!” She hollered, her Irish accent full and strong. Alex pulled her adopted sister and guardian to the highway, but not before Claire saw the men instantly scream out in anguish, as showers of froth and soap scorched into their skin.

No sooner had they reached the highway, when Bobby arrived behind the wheel of an old pick-up truck. “Get in! Hurry!” He ordered. Jodie jumped into the passenger seat, and Claire helped Alex into the backseat with her.

“What the hell were those things?!” Jodie gasped, sinking back against the seat. Bobby made a U-turn and tightened his grip on the wheel grimly.

“Leviathans.” He muttered.

* * *

 

Meg had found herself a good seat on a rooftop to watch the chaos unleash in the streets below. A portal had opened on the main street, and several bewildered ghouls had broken free. When they gathered their bearings, however, it didn’t take long to sniff out their prey. “No, don’t…” Meg sighed heavily as another civilian was taken down. Said civilian had deemed it perfectly sane to throw a can of soda at the cannibalistic threat. “Dumbass…” She muttered over her cup of coffee. What kind of idiot would dream of such a ridiculous thing? Humans. That’s who. 

When her eyes fluttered shut (because let’s face it; watching those morons kill themselves while firmly believing they’d make a difference was exhausting) she heard a sudden shout. It was gruff, deep, and refined. The voice; not the request. “Demon! Oi!” Suppressing a sigh, she stood up and walked over to the edge. A man, maybe in his late thirties to mid forties, looked up at her, a head rolling from him, a chef knife dripping dark red blood onto the tarmac below him. “Meg Masters?” He assumed. She sighed heavily and jumped across the small gap between her and a double decker bus. A ghoul looked up, bloated from gorging on a young Asian tourist, and she swiftly beheaded it, the angel blade drooling its blood down the steps to where the man was waiting.

“Angel?”

“Yes. Demon?” She nodded. “Bugger. I was rather hoping you might say no, with a face like that I would’ve put you as another angel.” He winked, then moved back to decapitate the final ghoul. The humans whimpered with fear, cowering in the diner from which they’d been roused.

“If you didn’t know your way around a knife, you’d be dead right now. And the ghouls wouldn’t have moved a muscle.” She tossed back. “Where are your comrades?”

“My comrades can’t pass from Heaven to Earth. Or anywhere, really. Not by flying.” He went to take her blade. “Has Crowley been playing with fire again?” He asked coolly.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been on the move lately.” She snapped, snatching the blade away from him.

“So has he, as a matter of fact. With my brother. Care to explain why Heaven is incapable of flight, Megan?” He impatiently shoved the knife into his belt.

“It’s Meg.” She bit back. “And before your panties start bunching, genius, the demons are grounded too. Portals are popping up like acne on a prepubescent boy’s mug.” She turned and began to walk to the nearest car. He followed her, straightening his leather jacket.

“So none of your groupies are responsible?”

“What’d I just tell you, cupcake?” She sighed, peering through a car window. He followed her to the next car, and the desire to murder him grew stronger by the second.

“Where are you heading?” He wanted to know. The brunette turned to give him a cold glare paired with a forced smile.

“Kansas.”

“I have people there. Road trip? No argument? Score. I’m dri--”

“Dream on, sunshine. I don’t play well with others.” Meg sighed, heading to the next car. Third time lucky. This one had the keys dangling like mistletoe from the sun visor.

“Neither do I. A match made in heaven.” He winked, then opened the car door and jumped into the passenger seat. Meg strongly considered heading to another car. But then again… he was an angel. He could prove beneficial. “I knew I’d win you around.” He grinned as she slid into the driver's seat.

“Two conditions. Tell me your name, and keep your mouth shut after that.” She smiled innocently. The angel exhaled wearily, then fixed a smile on his face, and extended his hand to her.

“Balthazar. My name is Balthazar. And I need you to take me to Lebanon, Kansas.” The angel’s eyes suddenly seemed grim. “I have some old friends I need to visit.”


	6. Rainbow Mac 'n' Cheese, Forgotten Dolls, and Misunderstood Losses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Charlie reluctantly tell Dean about the incident in the university; Crowley and Danielle both learn how serious the leg wound is after reminiscing together; Gabriel pays a high price for trying to help, Sam meets a potential in-law; Bobby tries to do the right thing, and Jodie becomes very aware of just how serious their situation is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I need to clarify a few things which were brought to my attention recently. Michael's vessel is no longer Adam Milligan! (Yay! Nay! I don't know!) It is in fact the young John Winchester i.e. Matt Cohen! Danielle Winchester's FC is Emma Watson. I spent a long time on this chapter, and the crappy quality is to be blamed on the fact that the premiere of Season 12 had me too scared to watch it any further. But never fear! Episodes two and three will be watched over the weekend.   
> I hope you guys understand just how much your love and support means to me, so I'm going to make it clear. It means a lot to me. And I love you all for it! Any criticism or little scenes (preferrably cute ones as I have been told that the angst will be much more acute when cuts of happiness break through.   
>  None of these characters are mine! Aside from Danielle, but ye can excuse me for that! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Dean was on his third beer. Charlie had stopped trying to stop him on beer number two, too exhausted to protest, and Castiel knew well enough that trying to force the matter would end badly. The angel had simply sat at the table and watched the lights blink, moving from city to city, country to country, continent to continent. And then one flashed over a city he knew quite well. In fact, it was a city that had been mentioned only that morning.

“Dean?” He called hesitantly. Hopefully he was wrong. He had to be. They weren’t lucky, of course not. But surely they weren’t that unlucky? The eldest Winchester walked out of the library, gulping the last of his beer.

“Yeah?” He replied gruffly. “What’s up, Cas?”

“Where did Danielle go?”

“To Declan. He said his dorm room was haunted.” He walked over, a frown on his face.

“Where are Declan and Danielle now?”

“Western Carolina... Cas?” Dean was beside him now. Castiel simply stared at the red dot. Charlie arrived, clutching her laptop like a newborn baby.

“Dean?” She began in a soft, shaky voice. Dean noticed, with a sinking heart, that her eyes were brimming with tears. “You should sit down…”

“Charlie, what’s going on?”

“Dean, please sit down.” Castiel reached up to touch his arm, but the hunter shrugged his hand off instantly.

“Not until someone tells me what the hell is going on.” He growled out, whirling around to face Charlie once more. She swallowed, then quietly handed him the computer. Dean took it skeptically, then turned it around, so that the screen illuminated his face with a truth he desperately wished wasn’t real. “Gas Mains Explosion Destroys University.”. Nausea flooded him in waves, and he sank into a seat, reading on in a trance. You know when you see something awful? Let’s say a car crash. Or maybe an accident on the motorway, on the way to work, or to visit a sick grandma. You don’t mean to. It just happens that your gaze is fixed to the devastation. Dean couldn’t stop reading.

“No…” He whispered hoarsely.

“Dean, we gotta go.” Charlie pleaded. “We need to go before we--”

“Before we light up?” He dragged his arm across his damp eyes. “Jesus Christ, they’re saying here that the whole university went up. No survivors… Not even Dani.”

“We don’t know that.” Castiel murmured quietly.

“Yeah!? Well why don’t you go on and bring her back?!” He slammed the laptop onto the table, startling Charlie, and prompting an imploring stare from the angel.

“I can’t.”

“Yeah. Damn straight you can’t. Because she’s dead.” He snapped. Burned to a cinder inside a college with a kid she didn’t know. Knowing her, she probably tried to shield him from the flames as the gas ignited. Maybe she even tried to take out her angel blade. Or cried out for help…

“Maybe she got out?” Charlie suggested, her optimism fading as Dean shook his head numbly.

“Dean, she’s clever. She probably made it out alive.” Castiel tried to assure him. Dean stood up suddenly and set his jaw.

“No, Cas. She most likely didn’t.” And he believed every word he said. That was when Castiel felt the first tug of fear in his heart. The first notion that hope was slowly beginning to fade.

* * *

They had been walking in relative silence for the past three hours. Crowley had to admit; Danielle was tough. She hadn’t complained once since they’d taken the arrow out. Hardly surprising, but still. The symptoms were already starting. Nosebleeds: six. Six of them in various levels of intensity. The first one had been the easiest. A small trickle, as if a child had scrawled a dark red line from her nose to just above her upper lip. One irritated swipe and it was dealt with. But then they grew in severity. The sixth one had almost stopped their travels for the evening. Crowley had to cut her flannel up to the bottom of her ribcage in order to staunch the flow. That was the only time she’d protested; it was one of Sam’s shirts. But it had to be done. And, Crowley noted with a heavy heart, the fact that half of the moose's shirt was soaked in blood could only mean that her deterioration was set to accelerate. 

“You know what I could really go for right about now, Dani?” He asked, deciding to bring her back into a state of somewhat alertness. Her face was pale and weary, and he wasn’t sure (he was no doctor) but the shivering in her breathing was hardly a good sign. “A steak. A nice fillet of steak, some fried onions… Medium-to-well done. Did you ever have that?” He paused for a moment. She didn’t look up. “Well, Michael does it superbly. And I’m bloody craving it right now!” There was another long pause, lasting about five seconds. Danielle broke the silence this time.

“Michael or the steak?” The question was possibly the most suggestive thing that ever escaped the youngest Winchester’s mouth. But what made him grin was the fact that she asked it in a low, yet curious tone, and then wore a look of surprise as her eyebrows lifted.

“The steak, Danielle, but thank you.” He chuckled, a strange feeling of lightness overcoming him. It was as if, just for a moment, the confusion and bizarre nature of what was happening disappeared. Then it returned once again. “I needed that.” He added quietly, reaching up to his chest. Inside his shirt, one of Michael’s feathers pressed into the linen, the outline providing him with a small brush of comfort.

“Rainbow macaroni and cheese.” The response was soft; gently spoken, but loud and clear enough to reach him. “I… Bobby made it with Sam, when Sam was young.” Her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to push her longing away. “And Sam made it with me, around a month ago.”

“Rainbow macaroni?” Crowley prompted. It was bad enough that he was missing home. Danielle needed to stay strong for now, just until they heard from Michael. The mere sound of his voice would be more than enough to keep him going. But until then, both of them being lost and upset would only make the journey harder.

“Yeah. And cheese. It’s really good, Sam called it comfort food. Castiel said it was nice, but I think he was just being polite.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, listening for a somewhat coherent response.

“Angels can’t taste things.” She replied carefully, as if dragging the trivial information from the deepest gnarled corner of her young mind. “At least, not the way humans and demons can. They taste molecules. So I don’t see how Castiel would’ve been able to taste the rainbow macaroni and cheese.”

“Mac ‘n’ cheese.” He provided the far easier alternative name. “You can call it that, rather than macaroni and cheese.”

“Okay.” She paused, and another trickle of blood slipped from her nose. “Is it time to find shelter yet?”

“No. Not yet. Slow down, teacup--” He noticed her veer to the side of the road, and instantly caught her as she sank to the ground beside an old apple tree. “Danielle?” He let her go once he felt the heat radiating off her. She was like a stove, burning up in the crisp chill of the autumn air. “Danielle, can you hear me?”

“Why have we stopped?”

“Just… Just stay here, Dani, eh? It’s going to be alright.” He insisted, digging around in the duffel bag for the water bottle.

“Crowley, am I--”

“You’re fine, quit over-reacting.” He grumbled. Danielle was too out of it to see through his facade. That was his only salvation. Deep down, he was starting to panic.

“Right…” She mumbled, watching him in a daze. “Are Sam and Dean here?”

“No. Though, I bloody wish they were.” He added, uncapping the bottle. “You’re their responsibility. Not mine.”

“I’m… I’m Zachary’s…”

“Zachariah?” He scoffed slightly. “No, darling. You’re not. Come along now, Dani, drink up. You’re just dehydrated.”

“He trained me… I was less… less dangerous…”

“Danielle. Stop that. Alright?” He tipped the bottle up, and she obediently allowed the dribble of water to line her mouth and throat. “Bloody… Hold that for a minute.” He thrust the bottle into her hand, and she took it, trying to be helpful. Crowley stood up, dragging the palms of his hands down the back of his coat, dust billowing behind him. They were around a kilometre away from a gas station nearby.

“You should go.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You just need some aspirin.” He waved away her selfless reminder. Yeah. He should go. But Dean would kill him, as would Sam. It was just good sense to drag her along at this point. “I’m going to go that way to try and find some more bandages. Just stick tight. And… Whatever you do, don’t go killing people.”

“Yeah.” Her head tipped back. “You got it.” Crowley glanced back at her, then nodded curtly.

“Right. Don’t let anyone steal the bag.” Translation: stay awake so you don't fucking die.

* * *

When Sam and Gabriel arrived in Lebanon, the archangel collapsed into Sam’s arms, spewing a long dark string of blood and mucus. “Shit! Gabriel?! Gabriel, wake up!” He cried, struggling under his weight. The archangel was frighteningly pale. Against the spurt of thick blood on his chin and the dark gray of the tarmac road, Gabriel’s complexion was practically snow. 

“Gabe!” Suddenly a hand clasped his shoulder, and Sam looked up, eyes wide with growing fear and confusion. His eyes landed on a tall, dark haired figure. The reaction was so quick, that later on Sam would find it difficult to remember how Gabriel got inside the house in the first place. His throat ran dry; his heart stopped for a moment, and he tried to shield Gabriel from the threat, when…

“Sam. Let me see him. He is my brother, and he needs me.” Michael insisted. Sam stared at him stupidly. He was using John’s younger form again. No surprise. But… The memories were raw. “Sam!” Michael snapped. Sam didn’t move. Gabriel mumbled something akin to a plea under his breath, moving in his arms. Michael took a deep, measured breath, struggling not to yell at the stubborn human. “Please, Sam. He needs rest.” He paused. “And you can’t carry him back to the bunker.”

“How do you know about the bunker?” Sam blurted out. Michael fixed him with a cold look, and stooped to help Gabriel up. The middle Winchester finally gathered himself enough to haul Gabriel inside the eldest archangel’s remarkably ordinary house. A growl greeted him on the way in, shattering the illusion that the ivory walls and shoe rack had provided.

“Growley, no.” Michael muttered. He wasn’t willing to say his name out loud. It sounded too much like… like him.

“Here?” Sam asked, his arms straining under the weight. Michael pulled Gabe to the sofa, and dropped him onto it, leaving Sam to prop his head up with cushions as he headed to the kitchen for supplies. “Gabe?” Sam asked quietly, checking his pulse. Michael rummaged through the various cupboards until he had what he needed; a bowl, some salt, and some water, the latter of which he set to boil in the kettle. Returning to the living room, he knelt beside Gabriel, and extended his hand to Sam. The hunter regarded it uncertainly, prompting Michael to suppress a sigh and beckon with his hand.

“The angel blade, Sam. I need it.” He explained briskly. He hesitantly pulled the weapon from his belt, passing it to Michael, who grabbed the handle, and placed the edge against the palm of his hand. Murmuring a few words in Enochian, he dragged it across his skin, opening a wound, and then ran his finger through the fresh blood. “Sam, get the hot water. Add salt, mix it up in the bowl. Go!” He ordered. Sam scrambled for the kettle, hands shaking as he splashed it into the bowl. Truth be told, he was honestly glad that Michael had a plan. Healing angels was hard enough; archangels were damn near impossible to save when utilising his knowledge and understanding. Dumping half a can of salt into the steaming water, he mixed it hurriedly, then ran back with it.

“What else?” He asked, his panic beginning to subside. Michael was tenderly cradling his brother’s head, painting bloody symbols on his neck, chest and forehead.

“Bring the bowl to me. Then you need to hold him steady for a little while, just until he’s taken it all.”

“You mean he’s gotta drink it?” Sam asked hesitantly, allowing doubt and cynicism to claim him once more. It was difficult to trust the younger face of a man he once called a father. Especially given the turbulent relationship he had with him. Michael was staring at him, nearly exasperated. But he clung to his remaining slivers of patience.

“Sam… Trust me.” He replied slowly. The hunter nodded, and reluctantly passed him the bowl, before replacing Michael at Gabriel’s head, holding it carefully in his hands. “Thank you.” He took the blade again, and then rested the edge on the wound again, widening it just enough to cause a trickle to enter the bowl. A faint hiss of steam escaped the water, the clarity of its purity tainted by swirls of crimson blood. Michael then continued to speak softly, caringly in Enochian, as he rested the rim of the bowl against Gabriel’s pale lips, and then tilted it up. Sam wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded like a lullaby. A sputtering sound escaped the youngest archangel, as the salty liquid struck the back of his throat, scalding and bitter, before finally flowing down as he fed on the careful measure of blood and salt water. Once the deed was done, Michael set the bowl down, and sank into the armchair adjacent to his brother and the hunter.

“Now what?” Sam asked hoarsely.

“Now we wait.”

* * *

Jodie saw it first. A small cabin, concealed within a cover of oak trees in the woods. Their truck had blasted down the highway for around fifty miles before slowing down. Weaving around abandoned cars, the multi-terrain tyres crushed over the remnants of humanity that frantic, oblivious fools abandoned on their way to “safety”. Old winter coats, shattered first aid boxes, toys. The latter was plentiful. Every weathered and weary doll that they passed stared at the pale sky, their painted gaze sad and faded after days of watching their owners flee, followed closely by a long line of potential owners, all of whom scarcely cast an eye upon the battered remnants of innocence. Dolls would soon be replaced by daggers in the hands of children, Jodie noted with a sad resignation. 

“Jodie.” Bobby’s gruff, deep voice pulled her back into the present predicament. She looked up in surprise, and he gestured to the road. A bus had collided with a truck, resulting in a colossal roadblock obstructing their journey. “You wanna turn back? Head east, see if we can get you and the girls to a shelter?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “Not happening.”

“They damn near had ya’, Jodi--”

“Damnit, Singer, I don’t care!” She snapped. “We’re not turning our backs on you. We gotta find the boys.”

“What if Alex and Claire got hurt?!”

“We won’t!” Claire insisted. “We’ll be careful. I’m a good shot, Alex is too. Come on, Bobby, please!”

“Don’t beg, Claire. What Bobby doesn’t understand is that he’s stuck with us.” Jodie shook her head slightly with faintly amused exasperation. “Turn back, there was a gap in the fence. We can drive on the truck trail through the woods for a little while.” Bobby regarded her closely for a few moments, then turned back, one arm going around the back of Jodie’s seat.

“Well, Alex. Looks like you ‘n’ me are the only half-sane idjits on the road tonight…” He grumbled under his breath, reversing the pick-up until he could spin around. From there, he drove back to the exit, and then steered the rusted vehicle through the trees, until twenty minutes later Jodie spotted the cabin. He spent ten minutes slotting the truck between the trees, and another fifteen clearing the cabin and perimeter. Then, content in the knowledge that they had a safe place to sleep for the night, the group crowded into the cabin, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep. Jodie didn’t say a single word when Bobby sank onto the bed beside her. She wanted to blame it on exhaustion. But deep down, she knew that the sudden jolt in their circumstances had done nothing to change the fact that she was starting to fall for the veteran hunter.


	7. Chapter 7: Demon tears, Angel fears, and Benny appears.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg is faced with the severity of their new circumstances, Balthazar's cynicism fades; Danielle is cornered by some old foes, when a familiar ally arrives at her aid. Crowley attempts to reconnect with one of the boys, only to find that the angel in question is not in fact an angel, and is most certainly not alone. Sam begins to lose hope, a motion which is identified with by Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! God, long time no post! Apologies for the length, or lack there of. Next chapter should hopefully be more substantial!!! I hope all you wonderful people are doing well. As always, don't forget to drop a review or a message!
> 
> Shauna.

“The wheels on the bus go round and round--”

“We’re not on a damn bus, genius.” Meg rolled her eyes. Balthazar appeared to be doing his level best to piss her off, lately. And much to her reluctance, it was working. 

“Come on, pissy. Lighten up.”

“Only the winning side in the goddamn apocalypse can actually say that.” She snarled, steering around a dead body. Stripes of crimson splayed from the stomach, innards gone, blood exploding in a violent flower on the road. 

“Who said we were the winning side?” Balthazar rolled his eyes. 

“Anyone with half a brain cell.” Meg responded sweetly, the tyres rolling a sick line of red across the road. The angel scoffed; it took her a great deal of effort not to break his jaw. “Clearly you haven’t met the requirements.”

“Oh! Sexy AND an attitude! My, my, Meg Masters…”

“I’ll pull this car over and make sure your meat suit is pulverised before we move another inch if you don’t keep your pretty mouth shut, princess…” She promised him, slowing as the car reached the source of the carnage. A leviathan, young. Inhabiting a ten year old boy. Meg stopped the car entirely, and reached back. Along the way, the infuriating, aggravating way, they’d stopped to fetch some supplies. The basics: salt, iron bars, holy water, bible, silver blades… And soap. She pulled out the industrial container, and stepped out. She gave the ravenous scrap of their new world just a moment to swallow his second meal, blood trickling from his lips, before finally being scorched to death under a rain of Borax oblivion.

Balthazar watched quietly, and when she returned, he wordlessly handed her a tissue. He didn’t make eye contact. Her hand moved up to her cheek instantly, and she pulled it down to see the small drop on her palm.  She looked up defensively, ready to fly off the handle if he even dared to mention it. But he didn’t. Through some bizarre sense of loyalty, or compassion or some other admirable bullshit that she never cared for before then, Balthazar remained focused on the scorched child before them. She took the tissue from him wordlessly and swiped away the tear, before folding it and pushing it into her pocket. 

“...The air is dry--”

“Oh, of course.” Balthazar agreed. She nodded curtly and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. They continued to drive. The carnage remained behind, one doused with blood, the other producing a column of fumes that met with the sky, a spear of darkness piercing the pale clouds above. The solemn silence was broken within a handful of seconds. 

“Can we make a pitstop? I need to piss.”

* * *

 

Danielle sank back against the tree trunk, sweat pricking through her skin as she struggled to remain conscious. She promised Crowley, after all. But that promise was getting harder to keep. Slowly, her eyes began to close. Warmth, accompanied by the need to escape the suddenly uncertain world, nearly lured her into slumber until a raucous laugh escaped from across the road. She forced her eyes open, and had to muster up the strength to draw her blade. 

“Easy there, gorgeous, don’t want to hurt yourself now!” There were three. Three… But they weren’t men. Their teeth were too long… Long teeth, and sharp too. It sank into her slowly, far slower than it should have. Vampires… She forced herself up, then collapsed to her knees again, the blade trapped under her hand. “Oh now!” The other two suddenly had her arms, and yanked her upright. The ringleader pinned her against the tree with a sneer. 

“‘M cursed...” She mumbled, trying to push him off wearily. He seemed almost amused by the feeble effort, and batted her hands away like flies. 

“Aren’t we all?” He asked, leaning against her, his breath tickling her skin. She could scarcely feel it. He inhaled deeply, then smirked and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her neck. “Sweet…” he trailed a finger down the side of her neck slowly. 

“No… Sick…” She mumbled, her head making an attempt to tilt up and look at him. Then, without warning, Danielle collapsed forward, the vampire startled out of his trance as he caught her. Then, with disgust, he passed her limp body to the slightest of the trio. 

“She’s still living. She won’t last long, get rid of her.”

“Yes sir.” He stepped back with her, brushing her hair back and kneeling so that she rested on his knee, before leaning in. His teeth grew longer, and he was about to bite in, when suddenly a blade drove into his side, the tip emerging on the other side. Her eyes were open, head suddenly alert, as she yanked the blade out and swiftly swung it into his throat. As his head toppled off, she heard a third voice join the conversation behind her, and caught the body, dragging her sleeve across the bloodied grass as she yanked her victim down with her, tumbling down the slope beyond the tree. 

“You boys huntin’?” A Louisiana accent joined the muttered argument, loud enough to attract their attention. The distraction was enough for her to kick the body further down into the ditch. 

“You found anything?” The ringleader asked gruffly.

“Naw. Just a few dyin’ animals.”

“Aren’t we all dying?”

“That ain’t stopped you yet.” He glanced down at the drag marks. Danielle covered her mouth to stifle her breathing, dragging herself up with the blade. “Benny Lafitte.” He murmured, strolling over to the edge and 

looking down. 

“None of your business.” The ringleader snarled. Benny inclined his head, sighing softly. How original. Don’t get him wrong; he tolerated other vampires and kinds just fine. But not assholes. Never assholes. What kinda asshole attacked a kid and then dumped her down a hill? Even if he did it for the blood, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. But this… There was a small motion beneath him, disturbing his growing agitation. A slim figure was leaning against the steep embankment, blonde hair messy, damp and loose. Benny stepped back and turned to face the two threats. 

“You boys might wanna mind your manners.” He informed them with a lazy drawl, drawing himself to his full height. Danielle pressed into the earth, hard baked clay cracking slightly under the extra weight of Benny. Everything was throbbing. It was as if each heartbeat destroyed a little more of her logic, and her hands shook a little more than what they had when she got shot in the first place. She had a fever, she knew that now. But what if Crowley had it too? And without his abilities… The vampires were weak, but living. What if they had fed on him? 

“I think manners are the least of our worries here, don’t you?” The ringleader snarled. Benny stiffened, adopting a defensive stance.  And then they attacked. 

* * *

Crowley walked on, adjusting his grip on the angel blade Danielle gave him. It had seemed initially ludicrous. King of Hell, needing a weapon rather than merely his reputation and powers. But now it made more sense. He’d been carrying one for some time, to the point that he’d grown comfortable with it. In the same way one might pick up an umbrella as they leave their home, Crowley slotted the weapon up his coat sleeve and went about his business; making deals, claiming souls, the hellish business. 

Now that he was alone, however, his mind claimed and seized the opportunity to torment him. Thoughts he never once would have believed intruded on him in a blitz attack. Such was their strength, he found himself slowly beginning to doubt their lack of honesty. After all, every lie starts with a grain of truth. Perhaps his entire relationship with Michael was a ruse. A false set-up arranged by Chuck to regain control over Hell. Or maybe it started off that way, pretending their love was real, then Michael genuinely DID fall for him. Memories emerged. Michael was stiff and rigid in bed throughout their first year. He said the right things, whenever Crowley grew confused by his hot-and-cold attitude towards sex, he’d plead and explain that he was just uncertain of what he was doing.

But then, after that first year, he started warming up. Hugs were freely given, kisses in his office, buckets of sex… That was almost easier to accept. If Michael had any ounce of love for him in his heart, then maybe they could save their sinking ship. But if not… Crowley knew in his heart that he loved Michael. He had difficulty saying it at times, but he still loved him. Now he was starting to understand those bloody songs…

“Blasted angels…” He muttered softly. And that was when he saw it. A black haired man in a beige trench coat… “Oi!” He began to walk faster, almost jogging over to the familiar figure. Someone was moving in the smashed car beside him, a familiar boot protruding from the open car door. “Cassandra!” He reached forward and planted a hand on his shoulder, whirling him around to face him. “Listen, I need your hel--” Two things became quickly jarring to the demon. Firstly: the young man before him was most certainly and inarguably NOT Castiel. 

Kevin Tran stared at him in alarm, brown eyes wide with surprise. The trench coat dangled from him, and Crowley dropped the prophets arm as if it were aflame. “Kevin?!” Crowley asked incredulously. And then the second thing whistled through the air behind him, the sweet melody of its arrival punctuated by a loud thud and a wave of pain as he sank to the ground. And through the haze of sheer bewilderment, a second figure stood over him, five feet of protection and determination with a shovel. Linda Tran. 

* * *

Sam took a position on an armchair, settling into it and placing his hands on the edge of the arms. Michael stood over Gabriel, having relaxed considerably since the colour returned to his face. The door was beyond repair for the time being. Instead, they had dragged the kitchen table over, placed a bedside locker on the inside, and then set a vase on the edge as a warning signal. If someone tried to break in, the vase would topple and shatter. Michael had grudgingly agreed that it was a satisfactory measure. 

Sam had been watching Gabriel contently until Michael spoke up. “We can’t fly anymore. Or teleport.” He rubbed his eyes with what seemed to be annoyance. Sam glanced back at Gabriel, then up at the elder archangel. 

“What?” He asked hoarsely. 

“That’s why he’s sick.”

“How do you know?” In response to Sam, Michael kicked the corner of a rug, revealing the ugly black scorches in the wood. Sam stared at it with growing unease. “Did you--”

“Crowley.” He corrected him. “Crowley left.”

“Can’t you sense him?” Sam asked, troubled by this revelation. He didn’t have a car. The walk to the bunker would be long and riddled with dangers… And now they couldn’t fly. 

“Only when he’s dead or in duress.” Michael sighed. “Heaven radio is down. Crowley can’t get through to the other demons.” He fell into a silence as Sam rummaged in his pocket, drew out his phone, and checked it for service. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. His heart began to sink slowly. 

“Phone service is gone.” He admitted softly. Dean and Dani. The missed calls. What if they were dead? And the last words he spoke to Dean were “I can’t even look at you right now!”. Not to mention his loving final speech to Danielle. “No. I gotta go, Dani, and… Don’t butter the ham. Just one side of the bread.” She’d been offering him a sandwich. He wondered if Dean had told her the truth. What about Castiel? Charlie? Did they think HE was dead? Suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his phone and hurled it with all his strength at the wall. The screen shattered on impact, and Michael watched it studiously before returning his piercing gaze to Sam. 

“I can’t fix that.” He reminded him. 

“I don’t want you to.” Sam was breathing heavily, and sank back into the armchair. After a moment, he spoke again. “Where did Crowley go?”

“Danielle prayed to me just as the communication networks went down. She said we were in danger. Crowley went to her.”

“Oh.” Sam felt as if someone had socked him in the gut. “Where?”

“Western Carolina.” Michael watched as the hunter rushed to his phone, shook out the few loose shards and unlocked it. There was still wifi from the local church. He had to wonder. How hard had Michael bargained to get Crowley to move to not only the suburbs, but a Catholic suburb? Regardless, Sam hastily entered the location into his search engine, and watched with bile in his throat as the reports slowly loaded in front of his eyes. Gas explosion in the university. Strange figures emerging from the sky. No survivors of the explosion…

“Whatever this is, it struck Western Carolina hard.” He muttered. Michael looked at the gray-faced hunter, and sank into the loveseat, shock sending his body into shut down. “The university is gone…”

“Then so is he.” He whispered, closing his eyes to fight back tears.

“If he’s dead, then so is Dani. You woulda felt it! Michael, come on…”

“What if that connection went dead too?” He forced the words out like acid. 

“Crowley isn’t dead. Neither is Dani.” Sam slid down the wall until he was sitting on the carpet, cradling his phone in his hands. “I won’t let them.” He insisted. But no amount of determination could stave off the looming cloud of despair that cast over the two. And, so it seemed, all the people they loved and cared about. 


	8. Chapter 8: Beef jerky, cabin fever and crap wifi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise as Dean begins to lose hope. A familiar face brings the brewing anger to a head as Claire and Jodie finally clash. Benny and Danielle fight for the title of "Protector of the Year", and Crowley comes face to face with a foe far more fearful than any normal supernatural creature...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, you guys, I am so sorry. Exams, college life, and family stress are very effective in murdering the writing muse! I hope you all enjoy this long overdue chapter!

Charlie had found a weak connection just outside a diner. It wasn’t much. Just enough to send out a brief message across the web. Frankly, the trio wasn’t sure that it would even work, but the message was sent; maybe through some desperate willing by the world at large. “Maybe Sam and Danielle will be able to see it. Or the angels.” She added quietly. Dean lowered his gaze, trying to ignore the complete absence of optimism in her voice. Castiel rested a hand on her shoulder, and then guided her back to the road.

“I’m sure they will. Maybe Sam already found Danielle.” He suggested.

“Sammy went south. Dani went east.” Dean was blunt and hardened in tone. “There isn’t a snowballs chance they found each other.”

“Dean…”

“What?” He growled, whirling around to face them. Castiel instinctively stood in front of Charlie, providing a barricade, however flimsy. “What’s your plan, Cas? We just… We just delude ourselves? Lie that they’re both alive and safe?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” The angel replied, his voice just remaining even. “We can’t lose hope, Dean.”

“Lose hope?” Dean snarled.

“As long as we stay positive, they have a chance.” Charlie whispered. “Right?”

“Exactly.” Castiel smiled briefly, trying to relax the trio. “We can fight this until it’s resolved, like always.”

“I don’t think you get it, Cas. This is it. This is the big end. The Mayan calendar just ran out of copies. And Chuck doesn’t give a shit.”

“Dean!” Charlie cried.

“Something must be wrong, Dean--”

“No shit, wingless.”

“My father wouldn’t abandon us now. Not like this.” Cas could feel the anger churning inside of him. Charlie was the only reason he hadn’t lashed out yet.

“He’s done it before, now isn’t any different.” Dean turned and continued walking. “Why would it be? Because this time around we found out more of his lies?” He kicked over an empty beer can, and it rolled noisily down the tarmac, tinnily colliding with several potholes before residing in a pile of rubble.

“What lies, Dean?!” Castiel finally snapped, stopping in the middle of the road. Charlie sank against a car, hugging her laptop to her chest. His hands crumpled into hard fists, and when Dean turned around to face him, his knuckles grew white as he recognised the wry smirk on his face.

“Let’s take Danielle, huh? Mom dies, has herself a little baby in Heaven, then returns to Earth. Great! Sammy and I have a little sister stuck in Heaven to learn how to be an angel.” Castiel drew in a breath to argue, but was cut short. “And whaddaya know? Our best friend Zachariah is in charge of her!”

“We all tried to protect her, Dean--”

“I’m not finished, sunshine.” He snapped. “We met Chuck. Like, a lot, we met him at least a dozen times! And he never even considered we should know! Drop a hint here or there. Maybe shove in a damn chapter about the sister I never knew I had.”

“Dean.” Castiel sounded as if he was forcing the words through a machine; a device that might just convert his anger into something productive. “There are… rules, laws that even God himself must follow. He did what He felt was right.”

“He left a baby in the hands of a sadistic psychopath.” Dean’s voice went from cold to agitated in a matter of seconds. “He knew! He had to have known; she said she prayed to him every damn night! Dani prayed to be saved, and when that didn’t work, she prayed for death!”

“She told you that?” Charlie sounded stunned, and Castiel dropped his gaze for a moment before responding.

“Yes. But did she also tell you that she used to run into his blades?” There was a long silence, filled with sorrow, shock and sickness. The angel looked at Dean’s face, his heart breaking as he realised. He didn’t need to look at Charlie. Her silence was broken by a shaky exhale of sadness.

“She killed herself?”

“He brought her back. Every time, Dean. And when we found out… Samandriel told us, and Sabathiel and I helped her. We always had. He brought her back as a young child every time, and so… Joshua helped us create a safe place for her in the Gardens. Sabathiel would heal her, we’d help her find strength.” He tried to explain, tried to assure Dean.

“Clearly not enough if she kept trying!” He snapped, tears building up in his eyes.

“Dean, please--!”

“I swore. I swore I’d keep Sammy safe. And now both of them are missing, and Danielle…” His voice shook, and he stopped, fists balling at his sides. “Sam knows the place. He’s quick and smart, he knows what to do. But Dani doesn’t. She could be dead!”

“Don’t say that!” Charlie pleaded, just as the tears began to fall. As she broke down, however, she kept talking, her voice tugged and abused by her sobs. “They’re… They’re both fine! They HAVE to be, Dean! It’s not Chuck’s fault, nobody knew what to do! W-We still don’t know…” She collapsed into another round of tears, her throat throbbing as a panic attack grew closer. But before that could happen, Dean was there, quietly leading her to a crumpled car and sitting beside her on the bonnet. She leaned into his side and cried for what felt like hours, even though the sun never moved, the clouds never shifted. It was as if, for a moment, the world stood still and just let the woman break for a while.

“It’s okay.” Dean murmured, not unkindly. “I got you. I got you, Charlie.” Once she was calm again, the three of them seemed to silently agree to forget the outburst. Castiel searched the cars and found a box of empty bottles, a gallon bottle of water, seven cans of food that ranged from spaghetti hoops to tomato soup, and a woollen blanket that reeked of tobacco, but was otherwise warm and intact. Refilling their bags, they all stood up, and walked forward once more, three lone figures continuing their journey into the unknown.

Had it been a normal day, Charlie might have made a joke about Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli (she called dibs on Legolas, the boys could bicker over the other two). But I think it’s been made pretty clear that this was no ordinary day.

* * *

 

They all woke up with a start, hair messed (except in the case of Bobby, who had the good sense to use hair gel and sleep in his cap) and bodies stiff. Any sense of bleariness was removed instantly when they heard the sound again. A fist slapping into the window again. Claire went to speak to Bobby scathingly, when Alex silently moved her arm over and covered her mouth. Bobby nodded gratefully to the brunette, and reached for his shotgun, pumped out the empty round, and stuffed an extra two into his back pocket, before easing himself out of the bed and towards the door.

He’d just reached the door, his hand balancing light as a feather on the doorknob, when the window splintered, shards piercing the hand that broke it with a vengeful sting. A surprised cry escaped the individual outside, although it was a little hushed, and Bobby swiftly shoved the door open and turned to aim the weapon. The man had his back to him, his scrawny frame almost swamped by the oversized green plaid shirt and brown body warmer. His head was ducked over his hand, and when he spun around, a splatter of blood was growing across his shirt, a scarlet rose against the dull green grass.

But really, none of that startled Bobby. If anything, it just led him to his final conclusion. He was just perplexed by his own surprise when he saw his face. “Garth?!”

“Bobby!” The younger man cried out, relief filling him like a fountain. “I never knew you had a cabin!”

“Dammit, son, what the hell are you doin’ way out here?” Bobby scolded him, lowering the gun and waving him inside. Once Garth had crossed the threshold, he was faced with a silent brunette, an angry blonde with a rusty pot, and a less angry but nonetheless hostile woman with a knife.

“Garth?” Jodie lowered the knife instantly and flung her arms around his neck, startling him pleasantly.

“Hey, Miss Jodie! Could I bother you for a bandaid?” He asked, once she had lessened her grip. That prompted her departure for twenty seconds, leaving Claire and Alex to regard him coldly. “I didn’t know you had kids, Bobby.” He remarked naively, looking up at the bedraggled hunter.

“I don’t, Garth. Least, none I’m rightly aware of.” That prompted a scoff from Claire, and a kinder twitch of the lips from Alex. “What can I say? Ladies love a nice suit.” He defended himself with a good-natured grumble.

“Anyway…” Jodie turned to face Garth with a cheerful smile. “How did you find us?”

“I didn’t think that I would! This is Bess’s uncle's old place. He gave it up after Joy died… Oh! But you don’t remember any of that! Boy, lemme tell you…” He began to inform them about everything that had happened to him since Bobby’s death, something which Danielle had been glad to discuss with Death himself in a bid to ensure Sam and Dean were protected against Lucifer and Michael. While Garth excitedly described Bess in agonising detail to Alex and Claire, Jodie began to organise their supplies with Bobby.

“I wonder what happened to Bess.” Jodie murmured softly. He nodded bleakly; they both knew it. Garth was devoted to her, Jodie knew that, and Bobby had known the guy long enough to know that a simple split wouldn’t be enough. Bess was dead. Either that, or…

“Hey!” Garth cried out. Jodie snatched up a hunting knife and turned to see Alex holding his left hand, palm facing up, and staring at her adopted sister in bewilderment. Garth’s face was dripping with holy water, the hand claimed by Alex also holding a silver coin. The young man seemed hurt and troubled by Claire, who was not only holding an empty cup, holy water darkening the edges, but was also gripping an iron nail, dripping with blood.

“He’s clean.”

“His blood ain’t! Claire, that coulda killed him! We got enough fuckin’ insanity around here without a werewolf gettin’ blood poisoning on us!” Bobby scolded her, grabbing a white strip of linen and a bottle of scotch. Garth yelped as the alcohol scorched into his skin, and then settled for a confused pout as the veteran hunter wrapped up his wounds.

“You didn’t do it.” Claire pointed out, her tone accusing. Bobby gave her a stern look, then resumed dressing the cut on Garth’s right palm.

“Claire, what’s gotten into you?” Jodie snapped, crossing her arms. It was as if, one might have noted, the woman was trying to defend herself against the blonde’s retort. And the retort came with a restrained power that silenced them all.

“What’s gotten into me?! Jesus, look around you! Look at the world! We have freaking monsters and demons dropping from the sky! People are dying, shit is blowing up in our faces, and YOU!” She pointed a rigid finger at the stunned hunter. “You’re too busy trying to get inside his pants to see any of it!” Alex stood up to rest a hand on her sister’s arm, but Claire shrugged her off angrily. “Am I the only one who can see ANY of this?! Or are you pretending it’s not happening so you and Bobby can get it on? So you can keep playing happy fucking families until things go back to the way they were? Because it’s not gonna happen!” Having finished her passionate speech, Claire snatched up her iron knife and stormed outside.

“Claire--” Jodie’s weakened voice was cut off by the harsh slam of a door. Her stomach churned towards the emptiness, and she sank onto a stool, closing her eyes for a moment. Silence rang out in a deafening scream, and then Alex moved. Crossing the distance between herself and her adoptive parent, she knelt beside her, and tenderly stroked her hair. A tear splashed onto Jodie’s shirt, and she leaned against Alex while Bobby stood up.   
Perhaps, had Alex’s emotional declaration been a little removed from the reality, they could have laughed, shrugged it off like a vague joke or remark. But it was too harsh. It resembled the sharp blade of truth too accurately. Humiliation was present, but not out of the selfish realisation that Claire was implying the sexual nature of Jodie’s relationship with Bobby. It was more the understanding that she was right. They could no longer turn and flee the horrors that this new world presented to them. The time for flight was over. And now, the fight was to begin.

“I’ll go find her.” Garth’s boyish, innocent drawl broke the silence. Bobby turned, puzzled for a moment. Jodie simply nodded, too sickened with sadness to speak. Alex was, of course, as mute as ever.

“You sure, son?” Bobby frowned.

“Yeah. I mean, I caught her scent. She won’t be hard to track down.”

“What if…” He fell silent, unwilling to insult the younger man. But he received a grateful, yet reassuring smile.

“I ate some steak earlier. I should be okay. And even if I’m not, I would never hurt a human being. Not even if they were really really bad.”

Bobby gave the younger man a grateful nod, and he slipped out the door, ambling into the trees. Then, he fixed Jodie a glass of water, and stood by the window, leaning against the wall as he watched for any sign of life. He prayed to whatever power that gave a damn, that they’d figure this out like all the times before. He asked for one more chance. One more opportunity to kick this things ass and send it back to the darkness. But maybe such requests were no longer of use. Maybe the prayer box was just too full and neglected by the gods and goddesses and deities out there. Maybe humanity had fucked itself up for the very last time…

* * *

Benny was sent to the ground with a striking blow, falling to one knee and leaning against the dead tree. Danielle flinched and pushed into the baked dirt for a moment, her hand clenched around the handle of her weapon. The head of the vampire lay a few feet away, powdered with dust and debris, his blood caking into the earth. His body was slumped against the wall of dirt beside her. 

His hands lifted to deflect a second strike, then a third, before swinging his muscled arm into the smaller of the three. Stumbling back, he scampered behind the leader, who withdrew a small knife from his back pocket, tutting slowly. “See here, Ben, round these parts we don’t take too kindly to strangers. Least of all the human lovers. So, given our current predicament, perhaps you ought to back off. You’re outnumbered…” He drew a bead of blood from his fingertip, letting it fall to the hard ground. “Tired. Hungry… Prob’ly been questioning your loyalties. Is it to the humans? Or to us? Haven’t seen any animals grazing ‘bout lately. I’ll tell you what. If the girl is still alive, and my boy Johnny hasn’t sucked her dry, you can have what remains. All you gotta do is join us.”

“I’m not that desperate.” Benny snarled. The leader gave a concerned smile, then adjusted his hold on the knife with a sigh.

“See, I was troubled that might be the case.” His smile faded into darkness, and then the vampire to his left lunged forward, teeth bared. Benny tripped back, holding the assailant back with his forearm to his chest. But blood lust added to his strength, and his attacker drew closer, ready to scratch out his eyes. His fingers were just about to press in, when a hand spat out of the ravine below his head, snatching the hair of the enraged soul above him. Benny just had time to lower his arm to shield his face, when a stripe of blood sprayed across his sleeve, and the head bounced on his arm, rolling down the embankment shortly after. The same hand then plunged a silver blade through the headless torso, and the owner of said hand pulled herself up.

A slim, shaken blonde clung to the handle, just looking up when the smallest of the surviving two sprinted forward.   
Before she could even flinch, Benny lashed out his arm, and swung him into the ground. Winded, his prey struggled to move, when a foot launched into his side, producing a squeal of pain to flee him. Eyes dark with rage, Benny reached into his waistband and pulled out a dark dagger, identical to ones Danielle had seen on hunters, and thrust it into his throat. Danielle yanked out the angel blade from the body and ground, just as the leader charged forward.

Benny yanked out the dagger, then turned it before slashing down until the body became two parts. Danielle just had time to raise her blade when his forearm swung out, tripping the final challenge up before he fell like a tree, chopped in two by the proverbial axe. Danielle dropped her weapon and raised her hand, rubbing any blood from her face before closing her eyes, her head throbbing with the adrenaline and the leg wound. “You alright, darlin’?” Benny drawled, lowering his arm to rest it on her arm.

“Mm… Where’s Crowley?” She croaked out, pulling herself back from the edge of the drop. The vampire gave her a quizzical look, then checked her temperature.

“You’re feeling hot, sweetheart. Let’s try getting you some water.”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley’s comin’, they’re on the way, sugar, don’t you fret now…” He assured her in a soothing tone, gently placing an arm under her back and another under her legs before carrying her back to the tree, closer to the road. “You’re a tiny thing, huh? When was the last time you ate somethin’?”

“Bag…” Danielle raised her hand. Benny quickly scooped it up and rummaged through it before yanking out a bottle of scotch and some beef jerky. “Crowley’s…” She swallowed, shaking her head at the former. “H-He likes… likes the taste…”

“I’m sure.” Benny smiled kindly, before tearing open the bag of jerky and passing her a strip. She obediently chewed it, although she coughed a few times, and then accepted Benny’s flask of water, swallowing half of it down before her eyelids became too heavy, and she fell back against the tree, falling asleep almost instantly. Benny sighed gently and hovered between rising to leave, or staying to protect her. The latter won out, and he stripped off his jacket, locking his hands behind his head and leaning back to shut his eyes. “I’m sure…”

* * *

 

Crowley stared up at them in disbelief, bewildered by the sudden change in events. Although, maybe a morsel of him wasn’t entirely taken aback by the perpetrators’ identities. After all. If anyone was going to bludgeon him with a shovel and survive, it would be Linda Tran. Amusingly enough, Kevin seemed frightened about the whole situation.

“Mom…"

“Not now, Kevin. Where are they?” She asked Crowley, the shovel still raised. “Hmm? Where are the boys?”

“What boys?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!”

“Sam and Dean?!” Crowley raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Bloody Hell, I… I don’t keep a leash on them, you know.” Linda went to swing the shovel down, clearly unsatisfied with his response. The demon quickly jerked, ready to turn to face the ground and avoid a fatal blow when Kevin grabbed his mother's arm, frantic.

“WAIT!” He cried.

“What?! Move your arm, Kevin, we need answers!”

“What bloody answers?! I don’t fucking KNOW where they are!” Crowley yelled, crossed between fury and mild fear.

“So why did you stop when you saw the trench coat?!” Linda snapped. It was remarkable, Crowley noted, how much anger could fit into such a small woman. His gaze flickered to the agitated woman’s son, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“You share all the latest gossip with mummy?” He asked witheringly. The prophet flinched, but Linda glared at Crowley, and he fell quiet for a moment, reluctantly.

“He told me about the angel. Casty or something.”

“Castiel.” Kevin mumbled quietly.

“Whatever.” She replied flippantly. “He works with the Winchesters. You know the Winchesters. So… Where are they?”

“Look. I’d be happy to give you a fake location, but frankly I need to be going. I have someone with me who needs medicine. Didn’t you check the bunker, prophet?” He asked Kevin, pushing himself to his feet and brushing down his clothes.

“It’s empty.” Linda lowered the shovel slightly. Crowley’s bemused frown suggested any attacks from the King of Hell would not only be non-physical, but unlikely.

“Empty?” He paused. “What about Moose?”

“I don’t know who that is, but nobody was there.” Linda snapped. Kevin dropped his gaze, and Crowley finally noticed his angel blade, held like a walking cane beside the younger man. Boy, really. “Who needs medicine?” Linda asked, before Crowley could consider demanding his weapon back.

“A girl. She got shot in the leg. It needs to be fixed up--” Linda was already dumping the shovel into the back of the pick-up, and yanked the back door open. “Where are you going?”

“You’re gonna direct us to this kid. Then we’ll talk about Sam and Dean, and go our separate ways.” She added, before climbing into the driver seat. Kevin sheepishly followed her into the passenger seat, and Crowley bit back a childish remark about the rules of shotgun before sinking into the cracked leather of the back seat. 


End file.
